“Seriously?”Dawn asked.
Karen fished out another article about a woman in Indiana that was passing herself off as a rescue organization and supplying. Dawn handed it back, she’d read enough. She looked at Wendy and shook her head.
“And then there’s the picketers.”
“Picketers?”
“Are you anti-slaughter or for the slaughter of animals?” Veronica asked.
Wendy and Dawn just looked at her. Was she kidding?
“It’s a major issue in the country. You’re going to be asked, trust me.”
“Well, what do you say?” Wendy asked.
“We are both anti-slaughter. But….”
Dawn and Wendy stared. “But?”
Veronica’s eyes filled with tears again. “Don’t,” Karen said. “See the thing is, we do everything we can for every horse that comes to Shifting Gears. But we can’t always save them. Sometimes they’re too far gone. Sometimes they cross that line and there’s no bringing them back.”
Veronica’s shoulders trembled. “I hate this part.”
“So in that case, when that happens, we have to call a renderer. We are not zoned to bury animals. Even if we were, we have no equipment.”
Dawn and Wendy sat back. “So, then they pay you for the body? Is that what you’re saying?”
“No, we pay them. We don’t know what they do with the body. When I think of hungry animals everywhere,” Veronica said. “I don’t know. We’re a lot of help, aren’t we?”
“Yes, actually you are. More than you know,” Dawn said. She looked at Wendy.
Wendy glanced at the list of the rescue organizations. “The ones that have checks next to them, that means…?”
“It means they are good people.”
“Two checks?”
“Good people who do good.”
“The ones that….?”
“Walk the walk and talk the talk.”
“The ones with X’s?”
“Not so good?”
“Two X’s.”
“Red Herrings. They only take the ones they want.”
“As opposed to? Just so I understand clearly.”
“As opposed to the ones that will take the horses in the most need.”
Dawn nodded. Wendy nodded. “What do you fear the most?” Wendy asked.
“I fear the day will come when we have to turn a horse way,” Karen said.
Veronica lowered her eyes. “I fear that day is not far away.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Ben owned Glenda and George’s home, a partially remodeled farmhouse built in the late 1920’s. It sat about half a mile up the road from Ben’s farm. T-Bone’s farm was sandwiched in the middle, a long, narrow seventy-acres used mainly for making hay. Ben offered to buy T-Bone’s farm years ago but the man refused to sell. He said the only way he was leaving was going to be in a pine box, this was his home. Ben felt the same way about his place, so that was that. When T-Bone reached the age when he could no longer farm the land on his own, Ben leased it from him and T-Bone supervised the hay-making each summer.
Wendy got the grand tour. “This is so nice,” she said of the house, the way Glenda had it decorated; the down-home warm cozy feel. From the back porch, you could see all of Ben’s farm, the barns, the horses in the pasture. You could see Dawn and Randy’s house. You could see the dogs.
“Oh no,” Glenda laughed. “Here they come!”
Up and over the ridge, three of the Labs ran through the edge of the pond, two stopped for a drink and Rotty brought up the rear, barely at a trot. Randy shook his head. “He’s really in a funk.”
They all hurried back inside before the Labs bounded up onto the back porch. Surely the dogs were going to be dirty and wet. Yes! They lay down panting and licking themselves. It was as if they’d conquered Mount Everest. Rotty climbed the steps and heaved a sigh.
“That’s so sad,” Wendy said. “Look at him.”
He perked up at the sound of her voice behind the screen door, walked over to look in, and started crying and wagging his tail. Everyone stared. He was looking at Wendy as if she were his long-lost friend. When she pressed her hand against the screen he wiggled all over and licked her hand.
“Walk away,” Randy said.
Wendy walked into the living room, out of sight, and Rotty strained to see her and started whining.
“Come back.”
Rotty wagged his tail, his eyes pleading for attention.
“It’s you,” Randy said.
“Me?”
“You must remind him of his owner.”
“I thought you were his owner.”
“We are now. He’s a stray. He was abandoned.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Wendy said. “That’s so sad.” When she walked back over and stuck her hand out the door, Rotty rolled onto his back to have his belly rubbed. “Oh my gosh.”
“She has that affect on me too,” Tom said.
They all laughed.
“Is he allowed in?” Wendy asked. He wasn’t dirty at all.
Glenda nodded.
Wendy opened the door and in he came, all wiggly and happy as could be. He walked over to the water dish on the kitchen floor, lapped some up, and walked back and stood next to Wendy. “This is unbelievable,” she said, down on her knee and petting him. “Look at you, you sweetie pie.” A little attention and he seemed perfectly content to go back outside. He lay down next to the other dogs and rested his head on Sloopy’s back.
“What do I do if he does this again when I leave?” Wendy asked.
“Simple,” Tom said. “Don’t leave.”
Everyone chuckled.
“He’ll be fine,” Randy said. “The more he sees you, the more secure he’ll feel.”
Wendy shook her head. “Why would anyone abandon him?”
Randy shrugged. “It might not have been by choice. He could have wandered off, got lost. She could be gone.”
“You mean dead?”
“Who knows.”
Wendy sighed. “This has been a rather depressing day.”
Dawn agreed.
“Let’s eat,” Glenda said. Traditionally, whenever they ate at George and Glenda’s, women sat at the kitchen table and the men sat in the living room. George, Randy, Tom, and Dusty filed in and found their seats. Ben chose to sit with the women today.
Dawn smiled. If Carol were here and not home putting the children to bed, she’d say he had his “I’ve been thinking – I’m up to something” game face on.
“Great sauce,” he said.
Glenda had made meat sauce with lots of sautéed mushrooms and roasted garlic. It was one of her signature dishes and always served over angel-hair pasta. Tom of course added Tabasco to his.
“Delicious,” everyone muttered, all with their mouths full.
Wendy passed the bread and then the butter.
“I’ve been thinking,” Ben said.
Dawn smiled. He was an open book. “Oh? About what?”
Wendy leaned back to look at Rotty. He was resting contentedly.
“About forming an alliance.”
“An alliance?” They were already incorporated.
“You know, like an “all for one - one for all kind of thing.” A pact. A commitment.”
“I ain’t pricking my finger and bleeding for you, old man,” Tom said.
They all laughed, Ben included.
“No, now hear me out. Say if someone wanted to build a house on the property, just like you two,” he said, gesturing to Dawn and over his shoulder to Randy. “I mean, what if Dusty would want to build a house here someday,” he said.
“I’d want a yurt,” Dusty said.
Everyone smiled.
“What if we wanted to build a rescue barn?”
Everyone stopped eating for a second.
“Or Randy’s parents? What if Tom and Wendy wanted to build a house here someday? Or her sons? Or D.R. or Maeve?”
Dawn smiled. She was on to him. This
was about Tom and Wendy. He wasn’t fooling anybody. Not even Wendy, the relative newcomer.
Dusty came into the kitchen for seconds. “Frankly, I’d like to live above a barn just once in my life. I’d like to hear the horses while I sleep. I’d like them to know I’m watching over them.”
Randy followed him in. “It’d have to be the foaling barn. It’s the only one with a toilet.”
“Shit, yeah,” Tom said. “You gotta have a toilet of your own.”
They all laughed.
Wendy got up to get a little more salad and motioned to Ben’s plate. He handed it to her. “A little more spaghetti, thank you.” He nodded when it was enough, and she handed his plate back to him.
It was the simplest of actions, but didn’t go unnoticed by either Dawn or Glenda. They looked at one another and smiled. “So,” Dawn said, glancing first at Wendy and then Tom. “Have you given thought to staying on with Ben after you get married?”
Tom looked at her with the same deer in the headlights expression he had on his face the other night in Wendy’s driveway. “No,” he said. “We haven’t talked about it, have we?”
Wendy shrugged casually. “Not really.” She reached for another piece of bread, noticed them all looking at her, and added, “I’m so excited. I lost four pounds and I’m not even trying. Unbelievable. I think it’s all the stairs.”
Everyone smiled. Tom patted her on the head in passing, and they all went back to eating. “So,” Ben said, with that still same “thinking” look on his face. Dawn had to keep herself from laughing. “If we form this alliance, would you like your house to be here?”
Wendy stared and then glanced over her shoulder at Tom. He too was awaiting her response. “Ben, I’m sorry.” Silence descended upon the kitchen, the living room, the house, the farm. “I love it here, I really do. And I’m sorry I didn’t get to know Meg. I see her everywhere here.”
Ben lowered his eyes, swallowed hard.
“I know how Tom feels. I do,” she said, looking in at him. “This is his home. My house has nothing to offer him; it has nothing to offer me, not anymore.”
Big tears slid down Ben’s face.
Wendy hesitated. “I don’t want Tom to leave his home. I guess I was hoping there would be enough room there for me.”
Tom looked away; he had to, and bit at his trembling bottom lip.
Ben looked at Dawn, he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t…. He motioned for her to speak for him, to say what he was thinking, what he was feeling. “He says there’s room.”
Ben nodded, and nodded again.
Dawn smiled and wiped her eyes. “He says welcome home.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Wendy stared at her computer screen, hit Save, and downloaded the new racing program cover onto a compact disc. Ben entered Bo-T for Sunday. Tom ponied three horses aside from the ones in their barn. Dawn did up three horses, Tom, two. A load of hay was delivered, an order of grain. Randy stopped by. Dusty stopped by, Spears stopped by. The blacksmith stopped by to check on Bo-T’s hind shoe. All was well.
Dawn left for home around noon. The farm blacksmith was due around one-thirty. Leaving now, she’d have time to eat lunch with the children. It was going to be a full day. Her Aunt Maeve was in town and all her family would be gathering at her cousin’s this evening.
She was also hoping to take a nap sometime this afternoon. She and Randy had talked well into the night last night about the possibility of his parents building a home on the farm. They talked about where might be the best location, how close, how far, his parents needing their privacy, Randy and Dawn needing theirs. “I think privacy is largely overrated,” Dawn had said softly just before falling asleep.
“That’s easy for you to say; you grew up with servants and nannies.”
“I miss my mom and dad.”
“I know. Shhhh….”
Wendy and Tom had talked well into the night as well. “What attic?” Wendy had asked when Tom mentioned it. “Where?”
“Right behind this room?”
“Where’s the door?”
“I’ll show you in the morning.”
Wendy lay next to him, staring up at the ceiling. “Are there lights in it?”
Tom chuckled. “Yes.”
“I’ll be right back.” She tiptoed out of the bedroom, down the tiny hall and opened the door somewhat warily. She turned on the light switch. “Oh my….” The attic was practically empty, just some boxes, cobwebs, dust everywhere. The walls and ceiling had been insulated, but that was all, no drywall, no paneling.
When she crawled back into bed and under the covers, Tom tucked her in nice and close and kissed the back of her neck. She sighed contentedly.
Dusty had done night check with George and “Just for the hell of it” he decided to climb the ladder to the loft in the foaling barn. There were a couple of old bales of straw in the center. He sat down, looked around and listened. He could hear Dawn’s ponies munching hay below. He could see the moon through the window. It looked almost close enough to touch. He could see the yearlings grazing in the pasture. He could see the dogs on Ben’s porch; Rotty curled up on the welcome mat outside the door.
Surely Wendy was meant to be here. Surely he was meant to be here. He climbed down the ladder and as he walked to his truck, thought about solar heating. He glanced back. The south bank on the roof of the barn would be perfect for heat-conductor panels.
Tom and Wendy had their first real date Friday evening. They had dinner at a local steak house and band bar. They even danced. They talked about their day. They talked about the racetrack. They talked about Wendy’s sons. They talked about the rest of their lives.
Dawn and Randy visited with Aunt Maeve at Linda and Harland’s. As always, Aunt Maeve looked wonderful and had lots of stories to tell. She held little Alice Marie, cooed and sang songs, played with Maeve and D.R. She sat talking with her brother Matt. It was a catered affair: appetizers served on trays, drinks in long-stemmed glasses, a three-course meal, a choice of four different desserts.
Whenever Aunt Maeve visited, the visits were usually short. “She belongs to the world,” her father always said. If there was a “cause” Aunt Maeve was “on it.” If there was a “need,” she was “right there.”
“You okay?” Randy asked, as they rode home. Both children were sound asleep in their car seats. “You look sad.”
Dawn sighed, staring out the window at the overhead street lights. “Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“My mom and dad and how the kids will never know them.”
Randy nodded. He figured as much.
The further they drove closer to home, the less street lights. Randy glanced at her. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”
She looked at him and smiled. “Yes.”
“Good. I don’t want you to forget.”
“Never,” she said.
The lights were all off at George and Glenda’s except for the porch light. Ben’s farmhouse was dark, both porch lights on. The night lights in the barns shone softly. The moon sat high above the trees. Randy parked the car, got out, and reached in for his sleepy son.
“Come on, honey,” Dawn said, unbuckling little Maeve’s car seat. “We’re home.” At the sound of her voice, Beau Born whinnied.
Sixty soft whips arrived Saturday morning by courier. Dawn and Dusty ran a video of Rupert opening the box, holding up one as a model and describing the dimensions and humane features. Dusty delivered them to the jockeys’ room from there. With the Miller barn having horses running today in the third, sixth, and seventh races, training was light. The only horse to go to the racetrack was Wee Born. There was a race for her on Wednesday. Ben followed her back to the barn, pleased with how strong she galloped.
“With a little luck and a fast racetrack…” he said.
“She feels good. She feels real good,” Johnny said, walking along with him.
It took longer than they would have liked for her to re
cover from that nick on her hock after her poor performance on the sloppy racetrack. She was almost a hundred percent. Ben wasn’t one to rush a horse. “When they’re ready, they’ll let you know,” he liked to say.
Johnny waved. “I’ll see you later, Ben.” He was riding Born All Together “Batgirl” in the seventh race today. Juan was riding Winning Beau “Whinny” in the third, and Native Beau Born “B-Bo” in the sixth. Back when Ben ran a public racing stable it wasn’t all that uncommon to have this many horses running in a day, let alone back-to-back; one race right after another. They had the routine down pat.
Prior to the first race, Bud Gipson made the announcement to the fans in the grandstand that the jockeys would all be riding today with a soft whip. “The jockeys, the management, and the ownership of Nottingham Downs are dedicated to the safety of the horses and our jockeys. Ladies and gentlemen, today is a new day in Thoroughbred racing.”
When the jockeys came out to the paddock, the crowd cheered, and they all waved their whips. The photographer flashed one photo after another. The race film photographer zoomed in on them.
Several of the owners and trainers could be seen smiling and shaking their heads in awe. Not only was there a crowd, the crowd seemed to care. Jeremy Blane, trainer of the three horse in the race; the favorite, wasn’t smiling at all. He turned his back to the fans and leaned down close to his jockey. “This ain’t a ride in the park,” he said.
The jockey adjusted the Velcro on his sleeves.
“You hear me?”
The jockey looked up at him, he just looked at him, and there was something about the way the jockey just looked at him.
“I mean,” Jeremy Blane said. “It’s not fair. We trainers had no say.”
“You trainers aren’t riding. I don’t tell you how to train.”
“Riders up!”
The horse’s fate, this race, this moment in time, never depended more on the rider. “Just hope I don’t fucking fall off,” the jockey said. “Carrying a big stick is not all I do.”
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