by Janet Gover
Liz took a long drink from her water bottle. She wasn’t usually one for bottled water—that was Kayla’s doing. But she had to admit it was handy. This was her favourite part of her world. Around her, the other horses moved restlessly in their stalls. They knew what was happening. She heard a loud bang from Deimos’s stall. She walked down the laneway to where the colt’s head was hanging over his stable door.
‘Hey, settle down.’ She stroked his nose. ‘Everything is not about you. Tonight, it’s all about Cassie and her foal. So you need to stay quiet and not cause a fuss. All right?’
The colt nuzzled her face and blew gently through his nose.
‘That’s better. Now, behave yourself and let Cassie have her baby in peace.’ She gave the colt a final pat and made her way back to the foaling box.
Of course she had missed the birth. In the two minutes she had been away, Cassie’s foal had slipped into the world. It was lying in the deep straw, not moving. Cassie lifted her head to look at the tiny shape. She struggled to sit then began pushing the foal with her nose. Lizzie held her breath. Then the foal kicked and tried to lift its head. Cassie shoved it gently with her nose and began licking it clean.
Lizzie sighed with relief. This was a good start. She leaned on the stall door in anticipation. She always enjoyed the next bit.
After a little while, Cassie got to her feet, nudging the foal to follow suit. The little one lifted a long, ungainly leg and planted its hoof firmly in the straw. It tucked its back legs under itself and gave an almighty push. The little creature rose from the straw and fell forward, almost onto its nose. Liz grinned. It didn’t matter how many times she watched this, each time was different. And each time was wondrous.
Not to be deterred, the new arrival tried again. It somehow got control of its too-long legs and managed to rise to its knees. Cassie nickered anxiously as the foal gave another enormous heave, and promptly fell down again. Liz would swear the look on its face was one of determination as once again it tried to get to its feet—and this time succeeded. The thin legs were shaking slightly as the newborn filly tried to accustom herself to this new state of affairs. Cassie nudged the baby gently in the right direction and the filly caught an enticing scent. She lifted her nose and began nudging her dam’s side, seeking … Cassie moved her body and the foal found what she sought. She latched onto her mother’s udder and began to drink. Her short fluffy tail began to wag.
Lizzie nodded as she watched. All foals were pretty, but this one seemed especially so. She had one white stocking and a smudge of white on her forehead. Although it was a bit early to say for sure, her coat seemed dark like her sire’s. The youngster was strong, too, just like him.
‘So, what’s your name, little one?’
Cassie’s ears caught the softly spoken words and she turned her head towards the stable door.
‘Well done, Mum,’ Liz said. ‘You have a beautiful baby. She’s going to need a name though. Let me see. Her sire is Apollo. He is the sun. But you, little one, will need a star name like all your brothers and sisters. We have a big astronomy book that my grandfather used for finding star names. We’re up to V now—so you will be Vega. Willowbrook Vega. How does that sound?’
The foal, tired now and full of warm nourishing milk, didn’t seem to care at all about the momentous act of being named. Her knees buckled and she flopped into the straw. In a moment she was fast asleep, her mother standing guard over her.
‘Vega,’ Liz whispered again. ‘We’re going to run out of star names soon.’
That’s when it hit her. This was Apollo’s last foal. This scrap of life, sleeping so soundly on the deep bed of straw, was the end of an era for Willowbrook.
Older stallions can service fewer mares. And last season, out of respect for Apollo’s age, Liz had restricted the number of mares sent to him. Because she needed the money his service fees generated, she’d taken almost entirely outside mares. She’d done deals to breed her mares to outside stallions, and only three went to Apollo. Two had already dropped fine colts. Cassie was the last to foal. And Vega was Apollo’s last daughter.
The filly twitched in her sleep, and Cassie lowered her head to sniff her.
‘You take good care of that little girl.’ Liz’s voice broke a little as she whispered. Some of the joy had gone out of the moment for her. Certain mother and daughter were going to be fine, she left the foaling box. She paused by Deimos’s stall. The colt was dozing. Liz knew that when the time came she would breed Cassie to Deimos. It was time for him to take Apollo’s place at Willowbrook. He couldn’t attract the same stud fees as his sire, though. At least not yet. He had to earn that.
The King of the Ranges was three months away. Deimos was developing well and she was hopeful he’d make a good showing there. If she could get him to a few shows, he might attract a few outside mares next season. But that was almost a year in the future, and competing took money. She had been fooling herself to think her father’s heritage was safe. There was a good chance she might save the homestead, but saving Willowbrook Stud and the bloodlines Sam Lawson had worked so hard to establish—that was another matter.
Weddings took a long time to plan, and Kayla’s emails had all been about weddings next year. That was a bit late. As Liz made her way to the house, she thought about the horses she had. There was a sale coming up. She had a couple of youngsters she was just starting to train that could bring a reasonable price at the sale, if they were going well. She had hoped to keep them longer, but needs must. She’d have to go in as a late entry, but there should be time.
The sun was still below the horizon as Liz slipped up the stairs to her bedroom and threw herself on top of the bed, where she dozed fitfully for an hour or more before the sunrise came to call her to work.
CHAPTER
46
‘Five thousand, five hundred dollars. I have five-five. Do I hear six? Come on, ladies and gentlemen, this fine three-year-old gelding by a champion sire. He’ll be a champion too. He’s beautifully brought on and ready for competition right now. Do I hear six?’
Mitch decided it was time for his next move. He pulled the gelding from a gentle hand canter to a stop and reined back six paces. Then he walked the horse forward while he cracked his stock whip three times. The gelding did not flinch. Mitch set the horse cantering once more around the sale ring, then pulled him to a halt, dismounted and removed the saddle. Holding the reins, Mitch stood the horse with his feet square and his head extended. Then he turned him and stood him again, showing off the animal’s fine conformation.
‘Look at that, ladies and gentlemen. That’s as fine an example of an Australian Stock Horse as you will find anywhere. Now, who will give me six?’
‘Five-seven-five!’ a man’s voice called from somewhere in the grandstand.
‘All right. I have five-seven-five. Five-seven-five …’ The auctioneer’s voice droned on.
In one fluid movement, Mitch swung onto the horse’s bare back. He tightened his legs around its body and pushed it straight from a standstill into a hand canter. He circled the far end of the sales ring, then steered the animal at a low jump that had been set up in the ring for this very purpose, although Mitch supposed it was intended that the horse should be saddled. The gelding cleared the jump with inches to spare, and Mitch heard the auctioneer declare a bid of six thousand dollars.
The gelding sold for six thousand, seven hundred dollars.
Mitch slid to the ground. He threw his saddle onto the animal’s back and tightened the girth. Then he led the gelding from the ring. The horse’s breeder was waiting for him, a wide grin on his face.
‘Well done,’ he said, clapping Mitch on the shoulder. ‘That’s a bit more than I had hoped for. Thank you.’
‘He’s worth it,’ Mitch said, patting the gelding’s neck. ‘He’s a good horse and was a pleasure to train.’
‘Well, you earned your money, that’s for sure. I could never have brought him on that well in that amount of time. I do ha
ve a couple of other youngsters I want to talk to you about.’
‘Great.’ Mitch tried to hide his satisfaction. That was good news indeed.
As he took the horse to its stall to await a visit from the new owner, he was greeted by a few friends, breeders and trainers all. It had taken some time after his return from Queensland, but he’d earned his place. People were starting to notice the higher prices brought by Mitch Saunders–trained horses. With luck there’d be a few calls in the next couple of weeks from people wanting to place their horses with him. And then in February, when he took the stallion he was training into the King of the Ranges contest, his reputation would be made.
Although he had a couple of mares, Mitch wasn’t really a horse breeder. He had little interest in bloodlines and breeding programs. He was a trainer. When faced with a good young horse, all he wanted was to bring out its potential—that was his skill and his joy. Each new horse was a new challenge. He’d come a long way from the boy who had cried when he said goodbye to the first horse he ever trained. There were still some horses he hated to see leave—horses that were special—but there was always another horse that needed his skill and his patience.
The gelding’s new owner appeared only minutes after Mitch had settled the horse. A tall man who walked like he’d spent his whole life in the saddle, accompanied by a young woman who had eyes only for the animal she now owned.
‘He’s beautiful. I am so thrilled.’
‘He’s a good horse,’ Mitch told her when introductions had been made. ‘What are you planning for him?’
‘I need an event horse. Cross country. Jumping and a bit of dressage.’ The young woman ran a knowledgeable eye over her new purchase. Then she scratched him behind the ear. The gelding angled his head towards her, and Mitch knew that two hearts had just been won.
‘Well, you’ve got the right horse here for that,’ Mitch assured her, pleased that his charge had so obviously found a good home.
Once arrangements for the gelding’s transport were set, Mitch was free. He set out for the bar to treat himself to a cold beer in celebration of the successful sale. More importantly, the bar was the gathering place for owners and breeders and trainers. It was the place Mitch would be sure to meet the people who might send a horse to him. Or buy one from him in the future. He made his way through the busy sale grounds, pausing here and there to chat. He was almost at the bar when the auctioneer’s voice caught his attention.
‘… Willowbrook filly. She is one of two late additions to your catalogue. It’s not often we get Willowbrook stock in the sale ring. This two-year-old filly is by Willowbrook Apollo. As many of you know, the stallion was lost earlier this year, so there won’t be many more chances like this. Who will start the bidding? Do I hear four thousand dollars?’
Mitch pushed his way through the crowd to a place on the rails where he could see what was going on. Sure enough, Liz was in the ring, leading a filly to each grandstand, positioning her so potential buyers could get a good look at her.
‘As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, the filly is well handled but not yet broken. She is ready though. Her dam is the well regarded …’
Mitch tuned the auctioneer’s voice out as he looked at Liz. Her face was a mask. Whatever she was feeling, he saw no signs of it. What was she doing selling an unbroken filly? Even newly broken with the most basic of training, the filly would bring a much better price.
Liz led the horse forward at a walk, then urged her into a trot. She began to feed out the lead rein in her hand and the filly was soon circling her, falling into an easy canter. She had a lovely easy gait and Mitch heard a couple more bids from the stands, but the price wasn’t good. It wasn’t what a Willowbrook horse should bring. He was tempted to make a bid. Not to buy the horse—he couldn’t afford that—but just to run the price up. To help Liz.
Down in the ring, the auctioneer caught Liz’s eye and raised an eyebrow. She hesitated for a moment. He knew why. The bid must be below the reserve she had placed on the filly. Then Liz nodded.
‘This horse is for sale. She is on the market, ladies and gentlemen. She will be sold today. So—take another look at her. A fine filly with an impeccable bloodline. She will make a fine brood mare. Dig deep in those pockets, ladies and gentlemen. You’ll regret it if you miss this chance. So, my bid is five thousand even. Do I hear five-five?’
Come on, Mitch mentally urged the crowds in the stands. But it was the end of the day. Most had made their purchases and were ready to go home. The filly sold for five thousand, two hundred and fifty. Not a bad price, but not a good one either.
Mitch pushed his way to the gate as Liz led the filly out. She handed the lead rein to someone waiting there, and took the reins of another young horse. This one was saddled. Mitch recognised it. He’d seen Liz riding him in the distance. He was a good young gelding, but needed more work before he was sale ready. Mitch could help with that.
‘Liz.’ He stepped forward and put a hand on her arm. ‘Don’t sell him. A few more weeks’ work and he’ll bring a much better price. Don’t let him go now. I’ll help you if you’re too busy.’
She shrugged his hand off and swung into the saddle.
‘Liz, this isn’t going to save Willowbrook. You have to know that.’
As she looked at him, her blue eyes were icy and he saw something close to desperation there. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then shook her head and rode the horse into the sale ring.
For the first time in his life, Mitch cursed his mentor. What kind of father laid such a burden on his daughter?
CHAPTER
47
No one likes the way hospitals smell. They smell cold and clinical. They smell of chemicals and despair. Lizzie’s knees are shaking as she walks through the hospital doors. She is alone. Mitch has dropped her off and gone to find somewhere to park the car. He will come back and be there for her, but for now, she is alone and frightened.
Signs on every wall point to places with unknown and terrifying names. Places like Nephrology, Oncology and Haematology. She has no idea where to go, but her father is here somewhere in this massive hospital. She will find him. Someone brushes past her. He is wearing a pyjama-looking outfit in blue, and has a stethoscope draped around his neck. A doctor.
‘Excuse me …’
The words are only a whisper and the doctor keeps walking, in a hurry. Lizzie looks around. There are people everywhere, but no one seems to have noticed her. No one has time for a girl who is desperate to find her father. A nurse appears from behind a door with a sign saying No Admittance. Before Lizzie can cross the room to talk to her, she disappears back through the door.
Then Lizzie sees a sign pointing to an information desk. The women at the desk are dressed like normal people. She hurries over. Maybe they’ll help her.
‘I need to find my father. He was in an accident. They brought him in on the rescue helicopter. His name is Lawson. Sam Lawson.’
A look of sympathy crosses the woman’s face. ‘You need to go to the Emergency Ward. Go down that corridor. At the end, turn left and keep going all the way. There are double doors there. The sign will say Emergency. If you go in there, someone can help you.’
‘Thank you.’
When Lizzie opens the double doors, it is the noise, rather than the smell, that hits her. Doctors are issuing orders in curt voices. Nurses are calling for orderlies. In the middle is a desk, where people are queueing, talking loudly and occasionally waving their arms at the two nurses working there. Lizzie doesn’t want to go into the emergency area. Going in there will make her one of those poor frantic people searching for their loved ones.
She walks through the doors and takes her place in the queue. She wishes Mitch was with her but he’ll find her as soon as he can, she knows that. Right now, the most important thing is to get to her father.
‘Nurse, I’ve been waiting now for more than an hour …’ An angry man pushes in front of Lizzie. ‘I want to see a doctor. I need to s
ee a doctor right now!’
‘Yes, sir. I understand. But as you can see, we are very busy. If you’ll just take a seat.’
‘I’ve been sitting there for an hour!’ The man is shouting now.
Lizzie wishes he would stop.
‘Sir. Please.’ The nurse comes out from behind the desk and leads him away, attempting to calm him as she does.
‘What can I do for you?’
Lizzie realises the other nurse is talking to her. ‘Please. My dad …’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Sam Lawson. He was brought in by the helicopter. After a road accident. Up near Scone.’
The woman is nodding and consulting the computer on her desk. ‘Lawson … Lawson. Oh, yes. I see. Your father was taken into surgery and then up to intensive care. Go back through those doors and take the lift to the third floor. When you come out of the lift, turn left and follow the signs to ICU.’
‘Thank you.’
It is the slowest lift Lizzie has ever been in. When at last she steps out on the third floor, it takes her a moment to find the signs. The ICU is at the end of another very long corridor. This time, when she steps through the doors, she is struck by the calm around her. The silence is broken only by the occasional beep of a machine. The nurse at the desk sees her.
‘My name is Liz—Elizabeth Lawson,’ she says. ‘My dad …’
‘Of course. Come with me.’
The nurse leads her to an empty waiting room. ‘Please wait here. I’ll let the doctor know you’re here.’
Feeling as if her legs won’t support her any more, Lizzie sinks into a chair. Her head is spinning slightly and she closes her eyes.