Once Upon a Misty Bluegrass Hill (7 page)

But how to get home now?
 

It was such a long way
back
to
Paris
, Kentucky
.
 

Well, he
r father once told her he hitch-
hiked his way home when his truck broke down. 
So, t
hat was what she would do too.

Four hours later
and
well after dark
, Jolene arrived home
.  A church group on their way back from camp had given her a ride and plenty of literature about finding Jesus. 

When the van filled with sympathetic new friends pulled up to her house, Aunt Paula was well into her party and
Jolene's
dogs
were waiting on the old porch among the broken wooden chairs
and bags of trash
and stood out from the scene with the regal presence of collies
.  When she
emerged
from the big white van that had the words
"
First Baptist Church
"
on the side, the
pups
flew into her with wagging tails and happy barks.
  "You are too good for this place aren't you
pups
?"

A drunk man
that Jolene had never seen
before
staggered out of the house just as the van backed out of the small rock driveway. 
Humiliated that her new friends, who waived at her with beaming faces had seen the drunk
en
man, Jolene ducked behind the side wall to avoid contact
with the staggering man
. 

She would go around the back, sneak in the kitchen door and try to
pluck
something from the kitchen for her and the
pups
to eat
.  Then she would sleep outside under her favorite tree so she didn
'
t have to see Aunt Paula or worry about any of the groping friends at the party.

Especially Travis.

She would give a little of the money to Aunt Paula
later b
ut
would
hide the rest tonight in the glass mason jar she had buried under the old dog house. 

She tried not to feel too bad about taking
Patrick
'
s money, but it nagged her to the core the wh
o
le time she dug out the jar, put the money in and buried it again.

Jolene patted the dirt down and
pushed
the doghouse
back into place
with a firm resolve to not worry overmuch about the Irishman. 

Even if he had been nice and helped her
, he did steal her family farm for almost nothing
after all
. 

Anyway, there was no more space in her life for guilt.

Besides, she would never see him again.

Hopefully.

Chapter 3

Paris is a city in and the county seat of Bourbon County, Kentucky, United States.  It is part of the Lexington-Fayette, KY Metropolitan Statistical Area. Settled in 1775, it lies 113 miles (182 km) east of Louisville, on the Stoner Fork of the Licking River. The town was originally known as Hopewell, Virginia when it was chartered in 1789. The name was changed in 1790 to reflect appreciation for French assistance during the Revolutionary War. Its tourism motto is "Horses, history and hospitality".
 
Wikipedia
- July 23, 2012.

"
I have waited for weeks for her
t
a
show up and feed da
'
horse….but no sign o
f
her.
"

Patrick
'
s head groom Bernie
stopped brushing the
chestnut
mare and
turned his dark eyes to the horse out on the meadow.  There was something might
y wrong with that horse.  He was angry as a hornet and
even more restless and difficult than most stallions
, so why did the girl come to see the crazy horse
to begin with
?
 
"
Maybe she moved away.
"

Patrick
laughed.
"
She dinna move and I don
'
t know where she lives.  But I think I know a way to get her to me.
"

Bernie started
w
o
r
king
the mare
'
s side again with
patterned, experienced
brush strokes. 
"
How is that?
"

"
I
'
ll take the horse to the Paris Stockyards for the Thursday sale.
"

Bernie dropped the brush and turned round eyes to
Patrick
. 
"
You are going to take a fine horse like that
and sell him at the stockyards?  You
are
a crazy Irishman
!
"

Patrick
chuckled. 
"
Oh, he
'
ll never show up in the pen
to be sold
, because that little miss will show up long before then if I put out the postings
ahead of time
.
"

Bernie came out of the stall
his eyes
rolling with his
disbelief
. 
"
And what if she doesn
'
t show up?  T
hen what are you going to do?
"

Patrick
shrugged.
 
"
I
'
ll take him off the sale before he ever gets up.
"

Bernie shook his head. 
"
Listen
Patrick
, I know you feel sorry for this girl, but honestly, you don
'
t even know anything about her other than her feeding the horse and selling herself as a prostitute at the Derby.
  There are plenty of those girls that want to hang with men
with money.  I
t is a ploy most likely and you are taking her
far
too seriously.
"

"
I du
nno
'
what it is…maybe
it is
her bright red hair
.  Reminds me of the girls at home.   O
r something in those big green eyes
reminds me of the emerald island.  Her eyes s
ay she suffered…
like that horse
she comes to see that
we canno
t
tame enough to train.
 
S
omething
a
bout her moves me
right
here.
"
  He jabbed his chest. 
"
J
ust so.
"

Bernie shook his head and clipped
Patrick
on the shoulder. 
"
You better watch out man, or you will end up falling in love with some girl.
"

Patrick
chuckled
. 
"
No chance o
'
that.
  Th
ough
you are a fine one to be
speaking
such
a way
when you have
your girl
Isha hanging on your every word.
"
 

Bernie turned and went back to the stall grinning. 
"
Ya
h right
, she
'
s hanging on
my
every word.  Just wait until she gets me down the
aisle
and then we will see how much she is hanging on my every word.
  At least she wrote to me while I was in Iraq, so she's a keeper.
"

Patrick
laughed
.  "She's got you good
.
"
  He started back to his house thinking that i
f Bernie had seen the skinny kid
shaking on top of those tall red shoes
he would laugh at his own notion. 
Even if
she
was a full grown woman and not a skinny little stick, he knew he would never love another. 
Not since he lost Marta
.  N
obody was going to replace her. 
She had been his childhood sweetheart that lived at a neighboring estate in Ireland.  The memories
of the time they spent together those years
at Kilruddery still chased him when he was there, even so many years later.  She had been able to ride so well…no one would ever imagine she would take a fall and die. 

She had been too young and too beautiful to die.

Patrick was just 30 this year.  He had plenty of time to marry and carry on the Earl of Meath line.

As if reading his mind Bernie yelled to his
retreating
back. 
"
You better be careful man,
Marta had red hair too
Patrick
, so that you
don
'
t let that turn your head.
"

***

The Paris Auction was packed.  Typically the only thing that came through
were
herds of young cattle.
  Early in the morning the iron-
bared trailers would arrive. 
Half of them were empty
because
the cattlemen were looking to buy and the second half were full because they
held cattle
brought to sell. 
The cattle, mostly
Black Angus
and milk cows
,
would be unloaded into the stalls to wait for their turn to be put out in the auction pen. 

Most of the time you wouldn
'
t find fancy boots from the Super Farm Store walking around the
Paris
Stockyards.  You found mostly just the rough, worn kind that had seen a lot of work time. 
The
cattlemen
worked hard to make a living on farms and didn't have time to prance about dressed in their best jeans
and boots
just to get them dirtied up by a bunch of cattle. 

Today the auction was filled with
a lot of new
people
.  Those
unusuals were
dressed far better than the rough edged farmers who didn
'
t have the time or inclination to look good for anybody. 
They came to see
Patrick
's horse and perhaps make a bid.

Inside
the Stockyards
kitchen Linda served the best burgers in town
.  T
he cowboys were piling in while they waited for their cattle to come up. 
As usual, Mary Jane and Michael, neighbors that lived half the time in Napa, California and brought the best wine back to Kentucky for their summer stay, were sitting in a booth chatting with Linda.

Mary Jane waived him over to their booth. 
"
Patrick
, we saw you trying to get that big gray horse out of the trailer.
"
 

Mary Jane was a retired nurse with eyes the color of the Irish Sea in summertime. 
Most morning
s
you found her compact, trim frame filled with energy darting
around her
vast vegetable
gardens
with her husband Michael
or pla
ying with her collie-dog Sarah
.

Patrick
arrived at the table and smiled at Mary Jane. 
"
Yes, he did prance, squeal, kick and bite…sometimes all at once.
"
 
Patrick
reached out to shake
Michael
'
s hand.  Michael
was a
bearded
quiet cabinet maker who had retired from a successful business
in Napa
,
California
.
  Michael
'
s
calm
watchful eyes were often
busy keeping track of Mary Jane.