Dog shows aren't known for their good food. Limp hamburgers, flat soda, and soggy prepackaged sandwiches are usually the order of the day. Savvy exhibitors pack a cooler but Miss Ellie and I were at the mercy of the Expo Center's culinary offerings.
She opted for a wilted, overdressed salad. I made do with a soft pretzel and a glass of sweet tea. We found a quiet place to sit down and sank into our seats gratefully.
“Peg was a dear to encourage me to come today,” Miss Ellie said. “I hadn't realized how much I'd missed all this.”
“It's too bad she couldn't join us for lunch.”
Miss Ellie waved the thought away. “Peg will be eating with the judges, as she should be. I'm sure she and I will have another chance to see each other over the weekend. Now tell me, did you enjoy your visit to Six Oaks?”
I took a sip of tea and nodded. “It was wonderful. The Thoroughbreds we saw there were beautiful and the scenery was spectacular.”
“It must be very different from what you're used to in Connecticut.”
“Absolutely,” I agreed. “I live in the suburbs. My house is surrounded by streets and neighbors. A family farm on a thousand acres of land sounds like heaven to me.”
“It can be,” Miss Ellie said tartly. “If your family knows how to behave themselves and get along.”
“Is that why you no longer live on Green Gates Farm? Because you don't get along with your family?”
Miss Ellie didn't answer right away. Instead she stared downward and picked at her salad, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. I watched as she pushed a limp cucumber aside and ate all the tomatoes first.
I'd probably asked another question that was outside the bounds of Southern etiquette, I realized. But I had no intention of withdrawing the query. Instead I sat and waited her out.
Miss Ellie finally looked up. “I no longer live on the farm,” she said, “because I no longer have a claim to the land that my great-grandfather settled more than a century ago.”
Not the answer I'd expected. “Ouch,” I blurted, without thinking. Quickly I moved to moderate my response. “What a shame that must be.”
“It's more than a shame, it's a travesty,” Miss Ellie retorted. “My grandfather, Bentley Gates, had three sons: James, William, and my father, Walker. Granddaddy loved that land. He worked his whole life to build Green Gates Farm into the showplace you see today. What he wanted more than anything else was for his three sons to work together, sharing both the property and the responsibilities that came with it.
“While Granddaddy was alive, the three boys got along. The horse industry was booming and there was plenty of business to go around. Nobody had to worry about protecting his own piece of the pie. But then it seemed like everything fell apart at once.”
“What happened?” I asked curiously.
“The tax codes relating to horse ownership were changed and the Thoroughbred industry went into a huge slump. Suddenly a lot of people who'd been living high on the hog were scrambling to make ends meet. And in the middle of all that, Granddaddy dropped dead of a massive stroke. My Daddy, bless his heart, he was a great horseman but he wasn't as business-minded as some.”
“Like his brothers?” I guessed.
“You got it. Maybe Granddaddy should have broken up the farm in his will and left a piece to each son. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead he thought his boys would be able to work as partners to protect his legacy.”
“I gather that didn't happen,” I said.
“Not even close. Next thing Daddy knew, he was being pushed aside. Every time he opened his mouth, he got outvoted. I was married then and off living my own life, but even I could see how that kind of treatment affected him. It affected all of us. My family had grown up thinking as Green Gates Farm as our home. That land was part of us, something we knew we'd always be indelibly tied to.”
Miss Ellie drew in a deep breath and sighed. “Daddy began to drink a little, and then a little more. Pretty soon he was drinking a lot. He made some poor decisions and he ended up having to sign away everything, including the land that should have been my inheritance. When he died five years later, there was nothing left. In the next generation, the farm passed to James's and William's sons, Sheldon and Billy. My two cousins own Green Gates Farm now.”
While she was speaking, I'd finished my pretzel and tea. Now Miss Ellie pushed the remains of her salad away. Clearly she had lost her appetite. Having heard her story, I couldn't blame her.
“The only thing I have left is the Gates name,” Miss Ellie told me. “And knowing the way Daddy was treated by his own family, sometimes I wish I didn't even have that.”
Chapter 10
I
felt like an idiot.
Miss Ellie had begun the meal by talking about how much she was enjoying her day at the dog show. And thanks to me, she had ended it in morose silence after I'd all but forced her to rehash her family's unsavory history.
Well done, Melanie.
I gathered up our rubbish, carried it to the nearest garbage bin, and dumped it in. The Standard Poodle judging would be starting soon, but I was well aware that Faith had been waiting patiently in her crate for several hours. Next on my agenda was retrieving her from Bertie's setup and taking her outside for a long walk.
I asked Miss Ellie if she wanted to accompany me.
“I think I'd rather wander around by myself for a while,” she said. “You've made a wonderful guide and I appreciate your efforts, but when it comes to dog shows I'm not without resources of my own.”
That was putting it mildly. No doubt Miss Ellie had many more resources than I did. Or maybe she wanted to escape my dismal company and was just being polite. Either way, there was nothing I could do but agree.
“I'm sorry if I upset you,” I said. “I always seem to ask too many questions.”
“Don't you worry about that.” Miss Ellie reached over and patted my arm. “That story I told you is ancient history. It was a bitter pill to swallow at the time, but I've had many years to come to terms with it. Years that I devoted to breeding wonderful Standard Poodles. Indeed you might say that Daddy's loss became my gain because it forced me to strike out in a new direction. And by doing so I was able to create something important that came from me and not just my family connections.”
The more I got to know Miss Ellie, I thought, the more I admired her. I hoped we'd be able to stay in touch after the trip was over.
“Besides,” she continued, “it isn't as though Green Gates Farm has been entirely lost to me. For one thing, my son is there every day, working on the land whose history is in his blood.”
I nodded. She had mentioned Gates the day before.
“And for another, I still take my dogs and visit the farm. Jack Russells need
lots
of exercise. Without it, those little devils would drive me right around the bend. I've walked that land since I was a child and I know every inch of it. As long as we steer clear of the horses, nobody even notices we're there. And with a thousand acres to explore, eventually you can wear out even a Jack Russell.”
Miss Ellie headed off in one direction and I went in the other. I figured we would reconnect later, if not ringside for the Standard Poodle judging, then afterward in the grooming area when she came to see Crawford. In the meantime I hurried back to Bertie's setup.
“I was wondering where you'd disappeared to,” she said. “I was looking forward to meeting Miss Ellie. I thought you were going to bring her around.”
“That was the original plan,” I told her. “But Crawford was right. I spent most of the morning just trying to keep up with her.”
“And apparently not doing a very good job of it.” Terry joined our conversation from the next setup. “Because it appears that you've lost her.”
“Impossible,” I said. “Everywhere we went people noticed Miss Ellie. Even in crowds like these, she stands out.”
“It's no different than walking a really good dog into the ring,” Crawford said as he hopped his first Standard down off its tabletop. “Everybody knows class when they see it.”
“I'm sure she'll turn up shortly,” I said. “In the meantime, I'm going to take Faith outside for a walk.”
“You'd better do it fast,” said Bertie. “Or you'll miss the start of the judging. We're almost ready to head up to the ring.”
Having heard my voice, Faith was already standing up in her crate. As I twisted the latch, she nudged the door open with her nose and came flying out into the narrow aisle. I started to bend down to say hello but my dog was way ahead of me. Faith knows better than to jump up but, manners be damned, she was barely out of the crate before she was already dancing happily on her hind legs.
I wrapped my arms around the big Poodle's body and gave her a hug. “I know,” I said. “I missed you, too.”
I looped a leash around Faith's head and tightened the collar under her throat. Head up, tail up, Faith was good to go.
We had barely reached the parking lot when my cell phone rang. To my delight, I saw that it was Sam. I was already smiling as I lifted the phone to my ear.
“So how's the South treating you?” he asked.
“Funny you should ask. I thought Kentucky was a Midwestern state but now that I'm here, everyone tells me differently. We've been sipping sweet tea and debating who actually won the Civil War.”
“Yup.” Sam chuckled. “You're in the South, all right. How's Peg's horse?”
“She's beautiful. And the farm she lives on looks like something from
Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous
.”
“I believe it. Years ago, there was a terrific Standard Poodle breeder who came from Kentucky. I think she lived on a plantation. Give me a minute and I'll come up with her name.”
“Ellie Gates Wanamaker,” I said.
“Good guess!” Sam sounded surprised. “That's exactly who I was thinking of.”
“It turns out that Aunt Peg and Miss Ellie are old friends. We visited her yesterday so that Peg could learn about Thoroughbred horses, and Miss Ellie is here at the dog show today.”
“Ellie Wanamaker stopped breeding and showing a long time ago,” Sam said thoughtfully.
I spied a small patch of grass at the other end of the parking lot and steered Faith in that direction. “That's right, she did.”
“Something happened back then. . . .”
I could hear the frown in his voice. Sam had lived in Michigan before moving to Connecticut. From that geographical vantage point, he'd probably been more attuned to what was happening in the Kentucky dog show scene than East Coast exhibitors were.
“I remember that there were rumors floating around at the time . . . Of course who even knows if they were true. But there was some kind of scandal . . . or maybe an accident?”
“There was a car accident,” I said. “Miss Ellie told me about it this morning. She wasn't injured but her best dog was killed in the crash.”
“That must be what I was thinking of.” Sam sounded relieved to be able to put the topic aside. “So how's everything else going? Are you taking good care of Bertie?”
“About that,” I said.
“Yes?”
“It turns out that she doesn't need my help.”
“Oh.”
Oh indeed. Or to put it another way . . . busted.
On the other hand, there are worse things than a husband who would arrange a surprise trip for his wife because he thought she needed a little time off. Especially when that meant that he'd be assuming full care of five Standard Poodles and an active three-year-old child.
“Bertie and I are doing just fine,” I told him. “How are you managing with Kev?”
“I'm not sure
managing
is the right word,” Sam said with a laugh. “That child thinks he rules the world.”
I laughed with him. “Kev's three. At his age, the thing he's best at is pushing people's buttons. You just have to reward the good and try not to let the bad get to you.”
“At least he's outgrown his naked stage. That's something to be thankful for.”
Kevin had spent the previous winter removing all his clothes every time we took our eyes off of him. We were
all
thankful that stage had passed.
“I'm going to give Davey a call later,” I said. “I want to find out how the hike is going.”
“Good thing I caught you then. Bob called this morning to say that because they're in the mountains, he and Davey will be moving in and out of cell phone range over the next few days. He wanted us to know that everything is fine and that we shouldn't worry if we can't reach them.”
Davey's father, my ex-husband, wasn't generally known for his thoughtfulness. But over Christmas he'd gotten remarried to a wonderful woman named Claire. It sounded as though some of her consideration for others was rubbing off on him.
“Good to know,” I replied.
After much sniffing around, Faith had finally found a sandy area to her liking. She squatted and peed, then looked up at me, ready to resume our walk.
“I have to go,” I told Sam. “Faith is giving me a dirty look.”
“That must be your imagination. Faith is an angel. She doesn't know any dirty looks.”
He had that right. Suddenly I found myself missing Sam's physical presence with a sharp, penetrating ache. There's nothing better in the whole world than a man you can share laughter and dogs with.
“All right, you caught me,” I admitted. “I'm the one who's feeling guilty because I'm supposed to be paying attention to her and instead I'm talking to you. I love you. Give Kevin a kiss for me.”
“Will do. Stay out of trouble. I love you, too.”
I rung off, shoved the phone in my pocket, and looked down at Faith. “Now it's your turn,” I told her. “Let's get some exercise in before you have to go back in your crate.”
Luckily the entry was large in Standard Poodles because by the time I'd returned Faith to Bertie's setup and made it to the ring, twenty more minutes had passed. The dog classes were finished but Bertie quickly filled me in. As neither she nor Crawford had won, the report didn't take long.
Now puppy bitches filled the ring. There were five in the class. Three were black and two were white. And Aldous Connor was taking his time deciding what he wanted to do with them.
Before finding a seat, I looked around for Miss Ellie. Standard Poodles always draw a crowd, and spectators were tightly packed on all sides of the ring.
It took me a minute to search through the throng of people. I didn't see Miss Ellie anywhere.
The Puppy class finished. A single Bred-by bitch came and went. The Open class entered the ring. Eight Standard Poodle bitches took up the entire length of the long mat. As the dogs and handlers got themselves situated, I had another look around. This was Miss Ellie's breed. If she didn't show up soon, she was going to miss the whole thing.
Then the judge sent the class around the ring for the first time and I forgot all about Miss Ellie. The sight of that many lovely Standard Poodle bitches gaiting together in unison was a study of beauty in motion. Crawford was at the head of the line. Bertie was toward the back. My gaze focused on the ring as I devoted myself to watching the competition.
Mr. Connor performed his individual examinationsâpulling out each Poodle by itself and using his hands to feel for correct conformation, then moving the bitch down and back across the matted floor to assess soundnessâand I found myself judging the class along with him. Many other spectators were doing the same. The fact that we weren't able to put our hands on the dogs to verify what we
thought
we saw from ringside, didn't deter us in the slightest. We all formed firm opinions anyway, about which bitches we favored and which we would send to the end of the line.
As Mr. Connor made his cut and then his final decision and gaited the bitches one last time around the ring, I heard both mutterings of disapproval and a scattering of applause. Imperturbable, the judge ignored both reactions. No doubt he was well aware that no judge ever succeeds in pleasing everybody. He pinned his class, then chose his Winners Bitch and Reserve.
Best of Variety was another nail-biter. In a ring filled with quality, Mr. Connor had more than one deserving option and he gave each Standard Poodle every chance to show what it could do. In the end, Crawford who had won Toys and lost in Minis, was again victorious with his Standard. Bertie, whose class entries hadn't made it as far as the BOV ring, ended up with nothing more to show for her efforts than a couple of colored ribbons.
Everybody gathered up their dogs and headed back to the setups. I trailed along behind. There'd still been no sign of Miss Ellie. I hoped she would come and meet us in the grooming area.
But an hour later, Miss Ellie still hadn't put in an appearance. The Poodles who weren't needed for further judging had had their hairspray and tight show ring topknots removed. Their hair was brushed out, rebanded and wrapped, and they'd been returned to their crates. Only Crawford's two Variety winners remained out on their tabletops to await the start of the group judging.
“I guess I did lose Miss Ellie,” I said finally. “She told me she wanted to see the show on her own for a while, but I thought she intended to catch up with us later.”
“I'm sorry I missed her,” said Crawford. “If I'd known that was the only chance I'd get, I would have
made
time earlier to talk to her.”
“Maybe she got tired and went home,” said Bertie.
The rest of us nodded. Even when you weren't exhibiting, dog shows could be a long day.
“Miss Ellie said she might come back on Sunday to watch Aunt Peg judge Poodles,” I said. “Hopefully you can get together with her then.”
Crawford's Standard Poodle made the cut in the Non-Sporting Group but didn't get a ribbon. He was too much of a professional to visibly show his dissatisfaction with the outcome, but I could tell by the set of his jaw and the way he exited the ring almost before the judge had even finished pointing at her winners, that he was not happy. Fortunately the Toy Group went better and the day ended on a high note.
Over dinner that evening, Bertie, Aunt Peg, and I rehashed the day's events. I related the highlights of my morning with Miss Ellie and Aunt Peg told a story about an exhibitor in an adjoining ring who'd tripped over the edge of a mat and lost hold of her leash. The woman's Basenji had bounced several times around its own ring before hopping over the barrier into Aunt Peg's domain. Its unexpected appearance had set her class of Shiba Inus to leaping and spinning.