~ * ~
Ben walked down the street and at the crossroad, decided to keep right on walking. There was a big farm just up the way. He could see the cupolas on the barn. Meg loved cupolas. They had one on each barn. The closer he got, he could see that these were copper, and the farm, very grandiose. Judging from the horse and rider insignia on the sign, it was a dressage barn. He stopped to look at the outdoor riding ring with a gazebo at one end.
“Private” the sign read. “Horse boarded by appointment.” He chuckled to himself, imagining a phone conversation. “I’d like to board my horse at four o’clock today, please.”
He walked on, came to another crossroad, and decided to head on back. He didn’t walk fast. He didn’t walk slow. He just moseyed along, taking in the sights, watching the birds fly from tree to tree. He thought about winter, wondered about how he’d walk in the ice and the snow, but decided it was best not to think too far ahead. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it. He glanced ahead when he got close to Meg’s Meadows and saw Dawn pull in the drive first, then Tom, then Dusty. He waved, kept walking, and stopped for a visit with the old-timers.
“I thought she win,” Miguel said, of Whinny’s race. They all nodded.
“Me too,” Ben said. “She just got nosed out.”
“She come back okay?” Mim asked.
“She came back good,” Ben said. “How’d Bo-T go?”
“Strong,” Mim said. “Two minute licking him a half-mile today after yesterday was good. I feared Junior might lose him at one point but he didn’t.”
“Shhh….” Lucy said. “Don’t let the baby hear you say that.”
Mim laughed and leaned down to talk to Lucy’s tummy. “Your daddy did good. If he can’t hold them, no one can.”
Everyone laughed.
“Where is Junior?”
“He’s stopping for ice cream. We’re out,” Lucy said.
Everyone pointed a finger at her.
“She hasn’t added pickles yet, but…” Jeanne said.
They all grinned and smiled. Having Lucy there and pregnant was having the same effect on them that bringing home a puppy would to an aging dog.
“Junior say Crimson Count come in for the Burgundy Blue,” Miguel said.
Ben nodded and looked at Mim.
“Stay the course,” she said. “It’ll be a horse race, but my bet’s on Bo-T.”
Ben was the last to arrive for dinner at Señor and Liz’s. They were all getting concerned. Dawn watched for him out the window. “Here he comes. He was in the main barn.” She sat down quickly.
Ben walked in, all smiles, went to the head of the table and sat down. Cracker Jack was having dinner with his family this evening and Gloria and Charlie had left for home, but everyone else was there except for Gordon. Liz was bursting with excitement. “We have a date. We leave three weeks from today for Appalachia. We’re all set and will be there for two weeks.”
Wendy cast a concerned glance at Matthew. The pleased look on his face confirmed that he’d already heard the news. “I feel like packing already.”
She didn’t want to put a damper on his enthusiasm and forced herself to smile. “This is so exciting for all of you.”
Señor nodded. “It’s all we can talk about.”
Mark’s girlfriend Susie was brought up to date on the trip and had lots of questions about the particulars. Ben enjoyed his meal, just listening, had second helpings, and then sat back and yawned. “Ah, tell me we’re having Boston cream pie.
“We are.”
Everyone passed plates down and the table was cleared of dishes and serving bowls. Coffee tureens were refilled, poured into cups, and dessert dished out. “I hear B-Bo galloped strong,” Ben said, savoring each bite of dessert. “I think I’ll sleep in tomorrow morning and see you all in the afternoon.”
“What?” Tom and Dawn said together.
Ben smiled. “Gotcha! Just kidding.”
Chapter Thirty Nine
The Sports page lead story in the Morning Banter was all about Crimson Count shipping in for the race on Saturday. Dawn read the article as she walked along. “Representative of the fact that only male horses are allowed to run in the Burgundy Blue Stake, it is traditionally a field comprised of horses targeted for stud careers. It was rumored that Beau Together, known better as Bo-T to the home crowd, was sent home after his impressive come-from-behind win last week for rest. His short-lived retirement will have him challenging Crimson Count not only for the win in the Burgundy Blue but for sire options at Breezeway Farm this upcoming breeding season. Though the race is expected to draw an eight or nine-horse field, it would appear this will be a match race between stallion prospects Crimson Count and Bo-T. May the best man win.”
No one was sitting in the tack room. They were all on their feet. Ben, Tom, Dusty, Junior. No one said the word jinx. No one would dare to say the word jinx, as that in itself at this stage would be just cause for a jinx. Dawn looked for a silver lining. “Are there any donuts?”
Tom shook his head and reached for Red’s bridle. “Alley gallops. Morning Dew gallops. The rest walk. Let’s hit it.”
Dawn glanced at the Overnight. Batgirl was in the third tomorrow, Wee Born, the fifth. This was a good thing, keeping busy, less time to think. If one of them should win tomorrow, they’d go to The Rib to celebrate. That would take their minds off Saturday maybe. “Who am I kidding?” she said to herself. “We’ll all be sweating bullets and I’ll be living in the bathroom.”
She wished her cousin Linda, Uncle Matt’s daughter, was in town. She’d meet her at the club. She and her husband Harland and their children had gone to Italy for two months. She wouldn’t be back for several more weeks. Dawn missed her.
“Loose horse!”
Dawn instinctively tucked back against the wall, just in time as the horse came barreling down the shedrow behind her.
“Shit!” Tom said, dropping Red’s saddle and bridle. “Whoa, whoa….whoa….” He spread his arms, talking softly. “Whoa….”
The horse trotted right up to him and just stood there, wide-eyed. Tom took hold of the horse’s lead shank, and again, the horse just stood there. A second ago, it was tearing down the shedrow, and now. “It’s a sign,” Tom said. “Thank you, Big Guy! Who do you belong to?”
Dawn laughed.
“Hey, it works for Hillary. Why can’t it work for me? Who do you belong to?” he asked the horse. “Who’s your daddy?”
“He ain’t got no daddy,” Chrissy Palmer said, walking toward them.
Tom laughed. “Oh no! It’s yo’ Momma! Hey, Chrissy.”
“Thanks, Tom. You silly boy,” she said to the horse, shaking her head. “Just think if you’d have hurt yourself.” She took hold of his lead shank and led him back down the shedrow and around the backside to her barn.
Alley Beau galloped first. She galloped strong and came back playing. There was a race for her on Saturday. Morning Dew galloped next. There was a race for her next Wednesday. Dawn and Tom split cleaning the stalls. Dawn filled all the haynets. Tom did all the water buckets. With the other horses in the barn walking today, all the horses were back in their stalls and done up by nine o’clock.
Ben had walked over to the Secretary’s office to enter Bo-T and Alley Beau and was accosted by a sports reporter and cameraman from Channel 8 news. “And here we have Mr. Ben Miller, owner of Nottingham Downs and owner of Beau Together.”
Ben made an attempt to not look like a deer caught in headlights. The fact that he was the owner of the racetrack and also a horse owner had been met with negative press when the racetrack purchase was first made. “Morning.”
“Much has been said about Beau Together this past week. He was rumored to have been shipped to Mountaineer, rumored to have been sent home to rest, rumored to be coming back.”
“Seems like that’s a lot of rumors,” Ben said.
Wendy came out of the office, took one glance, and tried to come up with a distraction. Ben shook his head.
“You do know that Crimson Count is shipping in for the Burgundy Blue?” the reporter asked.
“So I’ve heard,” Ben said.
“Have these two horses raced against each other before?”
Ben hesitated. That seemed like a pretty silly question coming from a sports reporter who should know the answer already. Wendy widened her eyes. Don’t correct him, don’t correct him, she seemed to be saying with her expression. “No, they haven’t,” Ben said. “But I just entered Bo-T and it’ll be a horse race.”
“Does that mean you think your horse has a chance to win?”
Ben flashed Wendy a look that surely conveyed where is Richard? She waved her arms discreetly and then pressed her fingers to her cheeks to make a big smile.
“Yes, I think he can win it,” Ben said. “Now if you’ll excuse me….”
“Just one more question, Mr. Miller. How do you feel about slots coming to Nottingham Downs?”
Wendy pressed her hands solid to her face, mouth open. She reminded Ben of that little kid in the movie “Home Alone.” He smiled. “Well, I understand there are a lot of people excited about slots coming to Nottingham Downs. And I think that’s a good thing.” Thus said, he touched the rim of his hat and walked away.
“Well, there you have it,” the reporter said looking into the camera. “Straight from the horse’s mouth.”
Ben walked back to the barn in dismay. “I just sold my soul,” he told Tom and Dawn.
Tom smiled. “Not according to what I heard.” He held up his cellphone. “Wendy said you were a master of discretion.”
“I don’t know why they couldn’t talk to Richard.”
“Because apparently he was in the men’s room.”
Ben just looked at him.
“I know,” Tom said. “He picked a fine time to take a shit.”
Ben laughed. Even Dawn laughed.
“I’m going home,” Ben said. “Am I needed here?”
“Nope.”
“Good, I’ll see you both at the farm.” He stopped by the ReHab barn on his way out. Dusty was doing up the Gulliver horse’s injured leg. “I remember the day this horse broke his maiden.”
“So do I,” Dusty said. “He win by five lengths.”
Ben nodded, leaning on the stall webbing and watching the horse eat hay. “Is he going to make a riding horse?”
“No. Pasture buddy Randy thinks. But he says there’s always a possibility. He’s going to Shifting Gears tomorrow.”
“That’s good,” Ben said. “They doing okay?”
“Yeah, they’re doing good. They’re getting more donations. Those articles Dawn wrote helped. And now that they have Hillary.”
Ben smiled. “Maybe I should have the girl come talk to Bo-T.”
“Matthew said she talked to him the other day and everything was x-rated.”
“Well, that’s Bo-T,” Ben said, and paused. “I’d really like to see him bred to some good mares. This is a first for me, you know, sending one away.”
“Well, it’ll just be for breeding season. Right?”
Ben nodded. “I’ll miss him. They’ll take good care of him though. I don’t know what I’m worried about. I’m fine. He’ll be fine. Meanwhile, we have a race to win, and nobody had better talk me into running him again, because this is it.”
Dusty smiled when Ben walked away. Coming from a man who repeatedly cautioned others not to fall in love with their horses, he never knew a man who loved his horses more than Ben. That’s probably why he and Ben got along so well.
~ * ~
Ben sat on the bleachers next to Vicky, Lucy, and some of the old-timers and watched Junior ride Bo-T up the path to the training track. Miguel, Steven, and Jack sat with Mim on the golf cart. They looked like a foursome on a golf course.
“Two miles,” Ben said.
Junior looked at him, Bo-T bouncing and prancing. “Two?”
“Yep.” Ben smiled, swirling his hand. “Four times around.”
Junior laughed. “I can count.”
Matthew, George and Glenda followed them up the hill at a safe distance. Señor and Liz climbed up the grass path from their backyard. Junior walked the horse onto the track, talking to him, singing to him, and jogged him up into the turn. He let him stand a minute and then straightened him around, a little trotting, a canter, and then into a gallop.
“Hold him,” Ben said. “I want him finishing just as strong as he starts out. Make him think.”
“Make him laugh,” Miguel said.
Everyone looked at him. “John Balushi,” he said. “I so love that movie.”
They all chuckled.
Ben looked at Mim. “I got cornered by the press this morning.”
“So I heard,” she said.
“Who?”
“Wendy told Tom, Tom told Junior, Junior told Lucy, Lucy told us.”
Ben looked at Lucy. She shrugged. “George and Glenda already knew.”
George and Glenda both nodded. “We saw it on the noon news.”
“We saw it too,” Señor said.
They all watched Bo-T gallop into the far turn and start down the backstretch, galloping strong, nice and even. But then he ducked and they all collectively held their breath. “What happened?” Ben said. “Can you see what happened?’
Lucy probably had the best eyesight of all of them. “He looks fine now. I don’t know what happened.”
They watched Bo-T gallop into the near turn and down the stretch. Ben held up his hands. “What happened?”
“He heard the rooster!”
“What?”
”He heard the rooster crow!”
“Damn rooster,” Ben said. “Is he all right?”
Junior looked back over his shoulder at them. “He’s fine. He’s fine,” he sang. “He’s so fine.”
Ben shook his head.
“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Mim said.
Ben glanced at her.
“I think a star or an asterisk next to the horse’s name in the racing form could indicate a horse being an only horse. On the program too.”
Ben looked at her and smiled. She was obviously trying to get him to think of something else besides the fact that the horse he’d entered in the Burgundy Blue just bobbled.
They all laughed when they heard Junior singing really loud as he galloped Bo-T down the backstretch so he could drown out the rooster should it crow again. Galloping down the stretch the second time, Bo-T looked strong and focused. The third time he looked just as good. Fourth time, he looked like he was getting a little bored.
“Click to him” Ben said.
Bo-T responded by bowing his head tighter and started snorting with each stride.
“Ah, I love that sound,” Mim said.
They all did. Junior pulled Bo-T up going into the backstretch and walked him back on loose rein. “He’s never felt better,” Junior said, when they came around. Bo-T picked up his head, paying attention to something in one of the pastures.
Beau Born had come up to the water trough with Hurry Sandy and had raised his head high at the sight of Bo-T coming off the training track. He bellowed his stallion whinny and Bo-T whinnied back. Beau Born stomped. Bo-T stomped. Adding to this, All Together, two pastures over, whinnied.
Everyone looked from one to the other and then back at Bo-T, wide-eyed and with his head held high. Beau Born whinnied again. All Together whinnied again. Bo-T whinnied again.
“They’re never done that before,” Ben said.
“Wow!” Junior said.
Hurry Sandy turned and walked back down the hill in the pasture. Beau Born followed. All Together went back to grazing.
“I wish I knew what that meant,” Ben said.
Mim looked at him. “Do you think they forget? They don’t forget.”
When Bo-T started dancing, George took hold of his rein and led him and Junior down the hill with Glenda right behind them. Junior returned a few minutes later on B-Bo. “Second verse, same as t
he first?” he asked Ben.
Ben nodded. Watching B-Bo gallop was a relaxing experience. The old-timers talked amongst themselves. The rooster crowed. B-Bo galloped right on by. He galloped at the same pace all four laps and pulled up like a gentleman. He walked back with his neck and back all stretched out. He looked like he was scoping out the grass on the other side of the fence. When Junior stopped him and turned him toward the inside rail, the horse kicked lazily at a fly buzzing his belly and heaved a sigh.
The entourage followed him down the hill, went their separate ways, and Ben took to the road. It wasn’t long before he was singing, “Ain’t no mountain high enough, ain’t no valley low enough.” And then, “I’m Henry the Eighth I am, Hen-e-ry the Eighth I am, I am….” He sang both parts, high and low, and changed the words slightly. “Hen-e-ry! Hen-e-rey! Hen-e-ry! Hen-e-ry! Hen-e-ry the Eighth I am! Ain’t no marrying the widow next door; she’s been married seven times before….”
~ * ~
Dinner was meatloaf and mashed potatoes and peas at Dawn and Randy’s. Carol made the meatloaf and two extra for the old-timers. Randy and Mark arrived a little late. Both washed up and sat down to eat. Richard arrived halfway through the meal. “No thank you. I had a late lunch,” he said. “And then I had to eat again.”
He’d been to two benefit events.
“How’d it go with the IHRA? “ Ben asked.
“Well, that’s why I’m here.” He sat down, looked at the meatloaf and mashed potatoes and helped himself to a small serving of each. “Ah,” he said, tasting both. “Delicious.” He poured a glass of water. “They want to do a documentary on Nottingham Downs. Well, not them per se, but a Hollywood production company associated with the racing industry.”
“Don’t look at me,” Ben said. “I did my part this morning. Last time I was featured on the news, I got kicked in the ribs.”
“Maybe they can get an actor to play you,” Tom said. “Course I don’t know where they’ll find one to fit those fancy walking shoes of yours.”
Everyone laughed.
“See, that’s the point. Ben. You’re the draw. You’re the old school embracing the new,” Richard said.
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