Chapter 11: The Gate

Abel's whole life was in four cardboard boxes on the verge of the road.

They held old racing programs, a shaving kit, a flannel shirt and a tin of saddle soap.

A framed photograph of a young woman with a foal lay face down in the dust.

I got out of Jude's truck before it stopped rolling.

The sun was barely up.

It was Cup Saturday.

The first trailers of the day already stood in a line down the road to the gate.

Abel stood beside his boxes in his flat cap and his good coat.

He looked like a man at a bus stop.

Two men in green vests stood in front of him.

One held a clipboard, one held Abel's old leather tool bag.

"You can't take that," Abel was saying.

"It's mine.

"I've had it since I was twenty."

"It was issued by the farm," said the clipboard.

"Mrs. Redmond says everything goes through inventory."

"Put it down," I said.

Both men turned.

I was still in last night's black jeans and Jude's sweater, with my hair wild and no makeup.

I didn't care.

"Miss Linden," said the clipboard, uneasily.

"This is a staff matter."

"What did he do?"

"Mrs. Redmond says he stole a saddle from the dining room."

A murmur ran down the line of trailers.

Doors opened.

I walked up to the man with the clipboard until I was a foot from his face.

"The saddle on that sideboard was put there at Nicolette Redmond's order," I said.

"She said it in front of Mr. Kessick and me.

"I carried it in myself, and thirty people at dinner watched my face while I did.

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