Part 4
He wrote while Ellen stood beside the bench. Once he stopped to check the original ticket, refusing to improve on his own record from memory.
When he finished, he read the page aloud, signed at the bottom, and placed the copies in her hand.
The next time Naomi came, she asked Ellen to take Benson farther than the usual length of the aisle. They walked and trotted on firm footing, worked a broad circle, and returned for another hoof examination.
Benson stood while the vet tested the sole.
“I can approve short, easy drives,” Naomi said. “Level ground, little weight, and an inspection of that foot every time. Don’t hear that as permission to do everything he used to do.”
Ellen brought her notebook over. Naomi dictated the restrictions and later put them in her formal report.
For two evenings Ellen worked through the harness. She flexed straps, examined stitching beside the buckles, and checked the collar where old sweat had dried into the leather. Then she uncovered the wagon completely.
Dust rose from the cover as she folded it. She greased the moving parts, checked the shafts, tightened what needed tightening, and tested the brake before rolling the wagon out of the shed.
Wade came for the first hitching. Ellen climbed onto the seat and gathered the lines, then sat there without asking Benson to move.
The leather felt familiar across her fingers. In front of her, one gray ear turned back.
She clicked her tongue softly.
Benson stepped forward, the traces drew taut, and the wheels began to turn.
They made a short first drive on the level field beneath the orchard. Ellen stopped him, waited, and asked for a broad turn home. Wade walked beside them without reaching for anything.
Over the next ten days, the drives lengthened from a hundred yards to twice that, then to an easy circuit. Benson waited when she climbed down. He stopped at her voice and brought the wagon around without crowding the shafts.
Afterward she lifted the left front foot, felt for heat, and made her entry in the notebook.
One afternoon he slowed where the field track joined hard gravel. Ellen’s fingers began to close on the lines, then opened. Benson looked down, breathed against the stones, and took his next step. She left him enough room to choose the following one.
At the kitchen table, she assembled the submission for Pat: Naomi’s report, Wade’s signed account and copies, details about the harness and wagon, and a proposed route. She added a level bypass that would let them avoid any doubtful stretch without improvising among spectators.
Pat called two days after receiving it.
“Be at the fairgrounds at eight on the first Saturday in October. We’ll examine the equipment and the horse, then conduct the drive. The decision will come from that assessment.”
“Understood.”
“Russell requested permission to be present. He has his own vendor checks that morning, so he’ll already be there.”
Ellen looked through the window. Benson was in the small pen, rubbing his muzzle against the water-tub rim.
“All right.”
She had not included one condition in the paperwork because it wasn’t Pat’s to enforce. If Benson hurt, or if his fear made the work unsafe, she would unhitch him. There was still room to sell apples from a folding table. It would earn less than rides, but she knew how to do it.
Naomi raised the question during the final check, while she was putting her instruments away.
“And if he can’t manage the fairgrounds?”
Benson dozed in the ties, one hind leg relaxed. Ellen lifted a loose strand of mane out from beneath the halter.
“He sits out.”
She finished packing with apples and a folding table on the list.
The fairgrounds smelled of damp grass and diesel exhaust. Early vendors were backing into their spaces, calling directions through open truck windows. Ellen parked well clear of the traffic and laid out the rubber-covered ramp.
Benson came down slowly. She kept her palm against his shoulder while he looked across the unfamiliar grounds.
Near the far fence, three black carriages gleamed beside Russell’s trailers. Gold lettering identified his business. Wade and Naomi were waiting by the test area.
Russell stood with Pat near a folding table. He turned at the sound of Benson’s shoes, and for a moment his face was unguarded. His gaze dropped to the horse’s four planted feet.
Then he looked back at Pat.
“A quiet field won’t tell you much. You’ll find out what he is when there are people around.”
Pat came over with her clipboard. She checked the health papers, explained the equipment inspection, and showed Ellen the route they would walk before hitching.
Ellen led Benson between two barns. He had been attentive but manageable, stopping to look at a stack of folded fencing and then following her on.
Halfway down the lane, a broad drainage grate crossed the gravel.
Benson stopped several feet short of it. His neck rose. Ellen felt the lead straighten between them and stepped back toward his shoulder before it pulled on his halter.
Russell had followed close enough to see.
“There it is,” he said. “The very reason I couldn’t keep using him.”
Ellen looked at Benson’s ears, then the braced forelegs. A narrow rim of white showed at one eye. He hadn’t struck, reared, or tried to run.
“He’s stopped,” she said. “I’m not going to turn that into a fight.”
She faced Pat.
“The bypass on our submitted plan avoids this lane. May we take it?”
Pat found the marked line on her map and pointed toward the open path beyond the barn.
“Use that route…”
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