Breeding Ground (21 page)

“Nope. You're right. I want to ask your opinion.”

“Fine. I hope I can help.”

“Y'see, I got this friend, and he's working for a real good barn with great bloodstock on the farm, and he's got himself a pretty good mare, and one of the stallion handlers offered him a deal. Said he'd fix it for him to breed his mare to one of them stallions for a couple hundred bucks. This guy'll never have the money to pay the stud fees any other way, and he asked me what he should do since—”

“Buddy. Look at the gray in my hair. You can see I weren't born yesterday, so why don't ya just tell me straight out this happened to you at Mr. Tate's?”

Buddy sat silent, staring at the wall of the white wooden barn behind Charlie Smalls. “Yes-sir. You figured right. That's just what happened.”

“So what d'ya want from me?”

“Help deciding what to do.”

“You expectin' me to tell you to do somethin' you know ain't right?” Charlie Smalls was watching closely, his face smooth and neutral, his eyes sharp and insistent.

“No. But—”

“I didn't think so. I don't reckon you're that kind.”

They were both quiet for a moment, while Charlie ate the last bite of peanut butter sandwich and Buddy lit a smoke.

“If you ain't had lunch, I got me a slice a carrot cake Mary put in, and I'd be glad for you to have it.”

“I appreciate that, but I ate on the way. My wife packed me a lunch before I dropped her at work. She won't be workin' much longer. It's harder goin' with twins.”

“Yep. Same way with mares.” Charlie slid a wax paper parcel out of a small paper sack and unwrapped it before he spoke. “Ya know, I been watching this business a good long time. I seen rich folks come and go. I seen poor folks rise and fall. I known horses that made me glad to be alive just to watch 'em do what they love. I seen horses treated like meat on the hoof by folks that oughtta be horsewhipped. And I decided somethin' a good long time ago.”

“What?”

“The only thing a man's got in this life that means a hill of beans – aside from family, if he's blessed with one that don't tax him sorely – is what he done he can look back on the day he shuts his eyes for good.” Charlie gazed at Buddy for half a minute, then picked the slice of cake up in his fingers and bit off a corner. “That make sense to you?” He locked onto Buddy's eyes and wiped his lips with a paper napkin.

“I guess. Yeah.”

“You ain't
never
safe. Life ain't
never
secure.
Nobody
gets that, ever. It's all up and down. The one break that looks like it's taking you somewhere you been yearnin' to go all your life can blow up in your face and ruin every little thing you care for. We think sometimes that if we control somethin', that that can make us safe. But how much of that do you reckon there is?”

“Stuff we control? I don't know. Not much, pro'bly.” Buddy was wiping his sunglasses on his shirt, looking away from Charlie.

“All you got is what you do on your own. Do you do your best when nobody's lookin'? Are you good to the horses that're in your hands? Do you tell the truth? And pay good for good? And good for evil too? I'm not sayin' that's easy. Lord, I know better! But that's what matters. That you do right yourself and don't expect nobody else to. Then you can hold your head up and you don't get real disappointed. And one day when you meet your Maker, you won't be ashamed of havin' worse on your hands.”

Buddy didn't say anything.

Charlie waited and watched him till Buddy had put out that cigarette and lit another.

“You disgusted with me? You thinkin' here's this guy who's still workin' real hard, as old as he is now, with not much to show for it? Maybe he's thrown his life away and wants to keep me down like him?”

“No! I mean I know you're the best at what you do, and the Hancocks think the world of you.”

“They trust me. They give me their best horses and let me work beside 'em, Mr. Hancock and his folks. I travel with the horses I work with. I take 'em to the track, and the mares to get bred and all, and the Hancocks and me we talk and laugh and get along. That's trust, and I b'lieve there's respect. But I cain't say they think the world of me. I'm a Negro man, and I work for 'em, and they like me just fine, with both of us knowing what that means.”

That lay between them for a minute, both of them examining it, before Buddy spoke again. “You know darn well I'll never have the money to breed my mare to anything good.”

“Pro'bly not. 'Course, you never know for sure.”

“You know Mr. Mercer Tate?”

“I do. He's a fine man. Like his daddy before him.”

“He's treated me good.” Buddy crushed his cigarette out on the ground, then sat back up and looked at Charlie. “I reckon I oughtta get going. We're about to start putting the horses out at night and bringing 'em in the morning, 'cause of the flies and the heat startin' up and all, and I gotta get 'em in early this afternoon and check 'em all over before they go out again.”

“At Toss's?”

“Yep.”

“You say ‘hey' to Toss and Josie, ya hear? I don't know her real well, but I knew her daddy and I admired him.”

“Thank you, Charlie. I appreciate you takin' the time and what you said too.”

“One last word?”

“Sure.”

“When you do right, you make enemies. For all kinds a reasons. Not every time, no, but some. Just get yourself ready, and don't worry none. It'll come out right in the end.”

“I'll try.”

“Your little brother's doin' good. He's turning into a real fair exercise rider.”

“That's what Laverne always says, but hearin' it from you means more.”

They both laughed. And stood up. And shook each other's hands.

Sunday, April 29, 1962

Alan was up on Sam, riding in Tom's secondhand dressage saddle which made him sit up straight and let his long legs hang down low, almost like a western saddle.

Jo was riding Toss's mare, Flicker, an amiable trail horse with uncertain parentage who did not have the best gaits in the world but was tireless and pleasant and needed to get out and get worked.

They were on a trail in the woods on the north side of Jo's house, a strip of woods two hundred feet wide that went for a quarter of a mile maybe, before the path crossed her neighbor's land, then snaked around and back.

The footing was good just in front of them, with very few tree roots across the path.

Jo asked Alan if he felt okay or if riding bothered his leg.

“The insides of my thighs are up in arms, but the injured parts seem fine.”

“Good. That was not a figure of speech I expected.”

“No?”

“You feel like trying a short trot? There's a good spot up ahead.”

“Sure.”

She let Sam lead so she could keep an eye on Alan, and he did well at the trot, relaxing more than most beginners do and posting the way she'd taught him. Not perfectly. No one would. He came down on Sam's back out of rhythm twice, but better than most starting out. She could see Alan was naturally athletic. And the grin on his face when they slowed to a walk and he looked back at Jo made her laugh out loud.

He asked if she thought they ought to start back, since Spence was coming at three.

“I do. And I was thinking too that we should talk to Spence by the cabin. If we try to talk at the house, Toss'll want to be with us, and Spence should have some privacy.”

“Yeah, that's a good idea. Could we ride again later in the week? It's more fun than I expected.”

“Sure.”

“We haven't talked about this in awhile, but I was wondering if you were still listening to the tape Tom left for you.”

“Not every day. But I think I'm almost done.”

“Does it still hurt to hear his voice?” Alan wasn't looking at her, even though they were riding next to each other. He patted Sam on the withers, then worked at shortening his reins.

“It doesn't hurt like it did. Sometimes more than others. But I really want to hear what he wanted to tell me.” Jo crushed a huge horsefly on Flicker's shoulder and threw it on the ground, then looked over at Alan. “He talks about you quite a bit.”

“Really. I wouldn't have expected that.”

“There's actually something I'd like to ask about, when we've got more time to talk.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“No. Not really. Nothing so dramatic.” It looked as though something had closed up in Alan, like a fence went up or a shield clicked in place. Jo wanted to kick herself for choosing the wrong time to ask.

Spence was holding the paper bag in his lap, on the stone steps in front of the cabin, looking at Jo and then Alan, as though he were holding himself in pretty tight, trying not to explode.

Jo waited and watched him for a minute, while she rolled up her sleeves. “I know it seems outrageous. That I'd start digging into her past, but with what I saw with my own eyes in high school, I couldn't just let it go, once I knew you were engaged. I've put notes of my talk with her aunt in there and—”

“Jo, you know what families are like. There could be all kinds of reasons for why she and her aunt don't get along, and for you to—”

“I know that. But it's not just her aunt. There're notes in there too from a conversation I had with a minister's wife in Louisville who Tara lived with after she had the illegitimate kid, and—”

“Her boyfriend went off and left her penniless and kidnapped her daughter!”

“Not exactly. There's a lot more to it than that. I've put the woman's phone number and the—”

“And what about the husband that beat the crap out of her? I s'ppose—”

Alan said, “I've actually talked to him. And I've put a tape in the bag there of my conversation with him, so you can hear him yourself and get a sense of what he's like. Part of what he said was corroborated by the minister's wife too, and I think you'll want to hear it.”

Alan watched a rush of irritation spread across Spencer's face, while he himself took a deep breath and thought about what to say next. “Jo and I both know we're meddling more than either of us ever imagined we would in anybody's life. Isn't that right?”

“Yes.”

“But because of what we kept uncovering, we felt we had to go on. Neither of us could've lived with ourselves if we hadn't told you what we've found.”

“I don't know what to say.” Spence stood and laid the bag on the ground and looked across at Jo and Alan, where they sat on an old stone mounting block ten feet from the porch steps. “To think that you two would go behind my back and dig up dirt from Tara's past – persecution some of it, from what she's said, that she's put up with all her life. From parents who were crazy and an aunt who never—”

Alan raised a hand and stopped him there. “You're a born scientific type. Wouldn't you say?

“Maybe.”

“You use data everyday in the business in ways I respect. You're rational, and a realist, and you make logical decisions. Please, just read the notes and listen to the tape and make up your own mind. If you think it doesn't matter and what these other people say isn't true, Jo and I will never say another word to you or anyone else about this, and we'll wish you well with the marriage.”

“We will, Spence. I know how it must seem, but we did it to try to help.”

Nobody said anything else for a minute. Spence stared off to the south across waves of rolling hills with his hands stuffed in the back pockets of his Levis while he tapped a boot in the dirt.

“Okay. I'll go through it all. I don't doubt that you were trying to help but if I see your evidence differently, this is where it ends. You both understand that? You'll drop the subject once and for all.”

They both said, “Yes.”

And Spence picked up the bag. “I need to get over to the hospital and spend some time with Mom and Martha, and let Dad go out and get dinner.”

Jo said, “Say ‘hey' to Martha. I haven't seen her since they moved to Charleston.”

Buddy walked into Stallion Barn 2 at Mercer Tate's and found Frankie in the tack room. He was sitting on a folding chair reading a racing paper, his feet up on an overturned bucket, a new red baseball cap pushed back on his head.

“It's about time you showed up. I waited on ya an hour.”

“I wasn't workin' here today. I had to make a special trip.” Buddy stood still with his hands by his sides and his eyes on Frankie. “I'm not gonna take you up on the offer.”

Frankie shot up and threw the paper on the floor. “You don't know what you're doing! You ain't never gonna get a chance like this again!”

“Yeah, I reckon that's true.”

“Then that makes you even dumber than I figured. I'll tell you this, boy—” He lunged toward Buddy, not touching him, but arms tensed, weaving like a rooster who's picking a fight. “You say a word about this to anybody, you hear me?
Anybody, anywhere
, and you'll wish you was dead! You want yourself an enemy for life? You just open your fat mouth, and you got one who knows how to make your life a livin' hell!”

Buddy had eight or ten inches on Frankie, and he knew exactly how strong he was, and who he'd licked in the past – and he looked down on Frankie D'Amato without moving an inch, without looking as though he thought Frankie was even worth considering. He stared at him the way he had the bully in fifth grade he'd beaten to a pulp for hurting his best friend – till Frankie stepped away.

Then Buddy walked out the door, heading toward his truck.

Monday, April 30, 1962

An hour after the Franklins' daughter, Martha, took a cab to the airport from the hospital, a blood clot was discovered in Alice's right lower leg, which all of them knew was life-threatening. More than one doctor came in on it, trying to keep the clot from breaking loose and hitting a lung.