Winning Odds Trilogy

by MaryAnn Myers

  “Coming down the stretch….”

  “Ah, Dusty,” said Amadou. “How you do?”

  Dusty smiled. “I’m doing good, Amadou. How about you?”

  “All well,” the man said.

  “Taking over the lead….”

  “The chestnut on the inside,” Amadou said, pointing. “He win, you see.”

  They both watched intently. From this vantage point the horses were running toward them, hard to tell. “And down on the rail….”

  “Ah!” Amadou let out a belly laugh. “I told you, eh?”

  Dusty nodded. “Yep, he win.”

  The horses galloped out in front of them, the jocks talking and yelling to one another, the winning jock singing a song.

  “This is a great life, Amadou,” Dusty said. “A great life.”

  “Yep! Don’t I know it!”

  ~ * ~

  Dawn led Batgirl out to Tom and Red and stepped aside out of the way. “Bring her back safe,” she said.

  Tom nodded. He had the mare’s halter and bridle draped around the saddle horn to the outside and Batgirl checked up nice and close. She liked Red, he liked her. He had a calming effect on her. Tom patted the mare on the neck. Dawn watched until they made the turn up by the track, then grabbed the muck basket and went to clean the mare’s stall. The timing of these two races was almost perfect. It didn’t always happen this way. Ben said he’d walk over to the barn after the race. That way Dawn could help Tom give the mare a bath, hopefully in the spit barn, and then either Tom or Dawn could come put B-Bo in ice.

  Dawn bed Batgirl’s stall nice and deep. Ben was one of the few trainers on the track that still used straw. “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks,” he insisted. Dawn fluffed it all around and then patted it down, filled the mare’s haynet, rinsed out her water bucket and filled it, then topped off all the other horses’ water buckets, but B-Bo’s. He stood in the back of his stall, knowing. He looked like a mountain of strength, all shiny and slick.

  Dawn glanced at her watch, post time. She walked down to the end of the barn, hoping for a good breeze so she could hear the race being called. They’d talked about piping the announcer into the barn area, but all the old trainers, Ben included, voted it down.

  “It’ll rattle the horses,” Mim had insisted. Practically everyone agreed.

  “And they’re off!”

  Dawn heard that loud and clear but that’s all she heard. The wind changed directions and she couldn’t make out another word. Every once in a while, if there were no horses or vehicles in the way, one could look down the road to the track and see the horses pulling up after a race. She saw one, looked like a bay, then another, and then Batgirl. She recognized their green and white jockey colors.

  “Third?” she said. It didn’t have to be. It could be that the other two horses just galloped out stronger. She waited for them to come back. Batgirl was one of the first to canter back. A nice canter is good, a trot or a walk, not so good.

  Dawn walked back down the shedrow, hung up the hose, and spent the next few minutes raking the footing under the walking machine. With rake in hand, she walked back out to the road, shielded her eyes from the sun, and waited. The spit barn was six barns up. When the horses from the race started down through the barn area, she held her breath. The first horse turned into the spit barn, second one, into the spit barn, and then here came Tom with Batgirl. “Shoot.”

  “Got beat a neck for all of it,” Tom said, when they got closer. “Damn. She run her heart out too.”

  Dawn took Batgirl from him. He dismounted Red and loosened his girth, ground tied him and Dawn led the mare into the shedrow. Tom took off her bridle, Dawn put her halter on. They gave the mare a drink and then walked her over to the wash rack. Ben came down the shedrow and stood watching them.

  His cellphone rang. It was Randy. “How’d she run?”

  “She run third, just got beat. She run her race. She run good.”

  “I’ll try and get back for B-Bo’s. I’m two counties away.”

  As soon as the mare was bathed and scraped off, they led her back to the barn, gave her another drink of water and put a cooler on her. Dawn walked her a few laps around the shedrow as Tom and Ben put B-Bo in the ice tub. Another couple of laps around the shedrow, another drink of water, and Tom took the mare from Dawn and hung her on the walking machine.

  “It’s a shame to run that hard and come up short,” Tom said.

  Ben nodded and pulled up a folding chair in front of B-Bo’s stall and got comfortable. “I might as well enjoy this while I can.”

  “Oh, Jesus,” Tom sputtered, shaking his head.

  Ben looked at him over his glasses. “Are you laughing or crying? I can’t tell.”

  “Somewhere in between,” Tom said, and they all three laughed.

  ~ * ~

  Wendy paced back and forth in front of the window overlooking the racetrack deeply involved in a three-way phone conversation with George and Glenda. “Well, we have to do something,” Wendy said. “Can you see if they’ll work a little later today?”

  “They won’t work after sundown,” George said. “Rotty, quit!”

  “What’s he doing?” Wendy asked.

  “Chewing on Dawber’s ear. Quit!”

  Wendy laughed. Of all the dogs, Rotty was basically hers, a big Standard Poodle with too much energy and a big heart. “I don’t know what we’re going to do, but I have a feeling we’re only going to have until Monday. We’ve locked the doors before which is why I think this guy wants to come on a race day.”

  “I’ll go talk to the Bishop,” Glenda said.

  “The Bishop?” Wendy asked.

  “He seems to be the foreman on the job. I’ll call you back.”

  “Wait,” George said. “Did you make lunch yet? Senior just said Liz made Sloppy Joes.”

  “Ooh,” Wendy said. “A Sloppy Joe sounds so good, especially Liz’s.” All three of them hung up.

  Wendy looked down at the horses in the post parade for the third race. She wished she had a camera handy, and time. There was a pretty gray horse looking at the Forget Me Nots and the contrast of color and the horse’s expression was breathtaking. She allowed herself a brief moment to savor the view and then headed out to the Secretary’s office. Joe was sitting behind the counter reading the racing form.

  “Where’s Linda?” Wendy asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s not my turn to watch her.”

  “Oh? Then whose turn is it?” she asked, zinging him right back.

  Joe blushed, reprimanded. “Actually I think she’s in talking to the Stewards for whatever the reason.”

  Wendy thanked him and walked down the hall. She rarely crossed the threshold of the Stewards office. She tapped on the open door. Linda turned and smiled.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “Linda, when you get a minute can I see you? I need your help.”

  “Sure, I’ll be right there.”

  Wendy resumed pacing in front of her office window. “Here’s the story. I’m going to need to be off tomorrow and we also have two horses in from Meg’s Meadows in tomorrow.”

  “Love that name,” Linda said. “I love just saying it. Meg’s Meadows.”

  “Close the door,” Wendy said. “Not all the way.” She waited. “As I said, I’m going to need to be off tomorrow.”

  “Is Matthew okay? Did he take a turn for the…?”

  “No, I guess he’s okay. I haven’t talked to him since I got here today. His appointment went okay, but it sounds like his eyesight challenges might be more than, well, I guess not more than what they said initially just a reinforcement of the fact. It might take a while and then it might not be a complete recovery. Only time will tell.” She paused, her voice cracking, and just then her cellphone rang. She looked at caller ID. “It’s Glenda, hold on.”

  “No go on getting the Amish crew to work later or tomorrow. The Bishop said they can be back at seven Monday morning instead of eight and will bring s
ome extra help.”

  “I think that’s going to be too late. Ask the Bishop if he could leave a list of things to do and in what order? I’ll hold on.”

  “Are you going to try and hire someone else to do it?”

  “No, I’m thinking maybe we’ll do it, you and me and George. Most of the big stuff’s done already.”

  “I’ll help,” Linda said. “I’m good with a hammer.”

  “Yes, but I need you here. That’s what I was about to ask you. Can you cover here tomorrow in the event that guy from Family Services does show up?”

  Linda appeared reluctant.

  “It’s either that or pony for Tom.”

  “No,” Linda said flat out. “I’m not going back down that road again. No way.”

  “All right then, so you’ll cover for me?”

  “Wendy?” Glenda said, back on the line. “The Bishop said okay, he’ll make a list. I called Senior too. He said no problem. Wait. What? George says Senior said to tell you we’ll start on it tonight.”

  “Good, good,” Wendy said. “I’ll see you later.” She hung up and looked at Linda. “It’s Joe’s day off tomorrow, no entries, but he’s been coming in anyway. I’m going to make sure he stays home tomorrow and it’s best if I’m not here. Richard won’t be back for another week or so. You’ll be on your own totally.”

  “So what is it that I’m supposed to be doing?” Linda asked.

  “Well, you’ll handle the scratches, and then watch the Secretary’s office for anyone you don’t know.”

  “I don’t know a lot of them. There’s a lot of new people here.”

  Wendy nodded and sighed.

  “What’s this guy want anyway?”

  Wendy glanced at the door and lowered her voice. “I think someone’s trying to close us down. I have no idea who or why, but why else all this concern about the old-timers? Why all those articles in the Morning Banter?”

  “Do you think there’s a connection?”

  “I don’t know, could be. Or maybe it’s just a coincidence. So will you do it?”

  “Sure. If I screw up, you can always send me back to Erie.”

  Wendy smiled. “I wish you’d stay.”

  Linda shrugged and looked away. “Maybe someday.”

  Wendy hugged her and the two walked back out to the Secretary’s office. “Joe, I want to make sure you take tomorrow off,” Wendy said.

  “Oh?” Joe looked at her suspiciously. “Why?”

  “Well, it’s your day off for one and you’ve been really helpful coming in on Sundays, but it’s not necessary. Linda’s going to be here. I’ll be here. Take your day off.”

  Joe looked from one to the other; Linda standing there looking nonchalant. “I think I’ll come in anyway, if you don’t mind.”

  “Well, I do mind, Joe. I think you need the day off. Got it?”

  He stepped back.

  “Besides, Linda’s probably going back to Erie on Monday and it might be a long time before you’ll have a chance at another one.”

  Joe’s expression changed entirely. “All right.”

  “Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go track my husband down.” As she walked along through the path between the racetrack and parking lot, she couldn’t help but think of Matthew. Gone was the day when she could put a band-aid on a cut or scrape and make all the boo-boos go away. Gone were the days when she could jump up in the middle of the night at the first sound of him or Gordon being sick, coughing, running to the bathroom to throw up. “Mom!!”

  When she looked up and saw Pastor Mitchell walking toward her and their eyes met she shook her head and instantly burst into tears. “Now, now,” he said, putting his arms around her. “Tom tells me your son is going to be fine. It’s just going to take a little time and lots of prayer.”

  “I know, I know,” Wendy said, stepping back and wiping her eyes. “Thank you. I know I have to stop crying sooner or later, but….”

  Pastor Mitchell looked at her.

  “I’ve never been this emotional in my life. Even when my first husband died, I just did what I had to do, and….”

  “Well, if you don’t mind me asking, Wendy, how old are you?”

  “How old am I? Forty-nine. Why?”

  “Just wondering. You’re just about my wife’s age and things affect her a little differently now.”

  Menopause. He’s suggesting I’m going through menopause. No, I’m not, Wendy thought, I’m too young.

  “I’ll keep you all in my thoughts and prayers,” Pastor Mitchell said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m on my way over to watch a few races with the old-timers.”

  Wendy smiled. Tom was the one that had started calling them the old-timers. It was the night he rescued them in the horse van from the nursing home just before it closed. “Old-timers” was how just about everyone referred to them now, and with affection. “I’ll see you later,” Wendy said. “Thank you.”

  As she started down the shedrow, Dawn, Tom, and Ben all turned. “Oh good,” she said, “You’re all together.” Ben and Dawn were sitting on chairs outside B-Bo’s stall. Tom was standing at their side.

  “Have you been crying?” Tom asked. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. It’s nothing. Well, actually nothing new. I just ran into Pastor Mitchell. I don’t know,” she said, tears springing to her eyes again. “Oh my God, what is wrong with me?”

  Ben looked at her. Dawn looked at her. Tom looked at her. B-Bo looked at her.

  “Okay, I’m fine now. I’m fine.” She wiped her eyes. “Listen, here’s the plan. We need to get the old-timers out of here by Monday.”

  “By Monday?” Ben said. “They’re not going to be done with T-Bone’s Place by then. We were looking at Wednesday maybe at the earliest.”

  “I know. It sure is a shame the hotel closed down.” Years ago, the hotel across the street was where former owner and management of Nottingham Downs used to put up their high-rolling clients and visiting stake-horse owners. They had two suites which would probably work out perfect right about now, at least for a few days. But that was then and this was now, and even if it was still open, the racetrack budget wouldn’t allow it, and then there was the issue of wheelchair access, high seats on the toilets, heavy duty bars on the walls in the halls.

  “Wendy?” Dawn touched her arm.

  “Oh, sorry, I was just thinking. Anyway, I think we need to proceed as if it’s a done deal and just do it. Shoot for Monday around noon. I’ll get everything in play as far as transporting them, moving their things, the beds.”

  “Back to the house,” Ben said. “How do you plan to…?”

  “I just talked to Glenda and George. They checked with the Bishop on the Amish crew.”

  “The Bishop?” Dawn nudged B-Bo to keep him from chewing on her shirt sleeve.

  “Yes, the older Amish-man. He’s their Bishop.”

  “Wow,” Tom said. “I’ve never known a Bishop before.”

  “He’s going to leave a list of things to be done and in what order. What we don’t get done tonight and tomorrow, they’ll come early Monday to finish.”

  “We?” Tom said.

  “Senior and George and me and Glenda and Liz. We’re going to start on it this evening. I’m going to call Gordon home. He can help too.”

  Ben recalled when Wendy renovated the attic area next to her and Tom’s bedroom at the farmhouse. Aside from hanging the drywall, she’d done most of the work herself, turned it into a right nice cozy, what did she call it, “A room of her own, a room with a view.”

  Wendy looked at B-Bo. “What do you think, big guy? Think we can do it?”

  The horse cocked his head, liking the sound of her voice, perhaps recalling it from the farm. “See,” Wendy said. “He thinks we can do it.”

  Ben tipped his hat back and scratched his forehead. “I have to tell you, whether we get it done or not, the closer it gets to this actually happening, the more nervous I get. This is a huge responsibility. These
people are old. Hell, I’m old.”

  “Oh, geez, not this again,” Tom said.

  Dusty walked down the shedrow and was brought up to date. Wendy headed back to the office, feeling good about the plan, feeling positive, hopeful.

  A young man walked toward her from the grandstand. She didn’t recognize him until he came closer.

  “Afternoon, Mrs. Girard,” he said.

  “Good afternoon, Junior.”

  “I suppose you heard.”

  “No.” She had no idea what he was talking about.

  “Lucy’s pregnant.”

  “Oh.” Wendy surmised congratulations weren’t in order judging from the sad expression on his face. “Is she all right?”

  “I guess so. I’ll see you later.” He walked on with his hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped.

  Chapter Fifteen

  B-Bo sauntered into the paddock as if he was on an afternoon outing in the park. Because he was so quiet, Tom stayed out on the track on Red with the rest of the pony boys and girls. Dawn held B-Bo while Ben saddled him and then walked him around the paddock. Ben often joked if he could do it over again he would name the horse Big Mack Truck.

  When the tote board flashed new odds, Ben squinted. He couldn’t make them out this far away. Juan Garcia, B-Bo’s regular jockey appeared at his side. “He look good, like always.” Next time around, Dawn led the horse past them into the stall.

  “You’ve only got one horse to beat,” Ben was saying. Everyone involved knew who he was referring to, Switch and Slide, the big black colt of Sheefer’s coming out of the five hole. The two horses were like Alydar and Affirmed, trading wins for years now. Every once in a while they both threw a bad race, but for the most part, the rest of the field were vying for third or fourth.

  “Riders up!”

  Dawn joined Ben a few minutes later at the fence. She looked over by the track kitchen just before post time and was pleasantly surprised to see Randy’s truck pull up next to the Ginny stand.