CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Auggie
It had been the spring after Ford’s twelfth birthday and I had been so excited. His gift had been a yearling we’d bought at the Keeneland sales for him. We’d given it to him that morning before he left for school. I knew he would look forward to coming home. Together, we would train and raise the young horse and Ford would know the joy I felt for Carlos.
Carlos had since been retired and grazed the fields between the barns and the Steeplechase complex that had eventually gotten built. From time to time, we had hitched him to a lightweight carriage and Ford and I would ride the estate behind him, stopping to chase butterflies, peek into birds’ nests or fish in the stream that ran through the back half of the estate.
So many things had changed since Linc’s death. Not only was the threat removed, but we managed to put it behind us almost as cleanly as when the first Linc died. No one spoke about it.
Mother had taken it hard. Linc had been her ticket back to society and prosperity. Although no one asked her to leave, she couldn’t afford the upkeep for the farm and we all agreed it would be better if she down-sized again for her own sake, and ours. Mother had thought otherwise.
She’d become a living scandal, chasing after one man and another. She was literally selling herself for the price of upkeep and while a few of the old-timers bit at the beginning, no one could bear to keep company with her for long.
I think Dad considered helping her out, for old times’ sake, but she saw it as an offer of renewing their marriage and he had other ideas. He asked Mrs. LaViere, Worth’s mother to marry him, and she accepted. She now lived with Dad at his farm and the condo sat empty. Mother had fastened her attention on getting that, but there was no way I wanted her influence in my life, and most especially Ford’s. We chose to more or less leave her to her own devices.
One winter night, Mother had chosen to go after a relic from the old days. His name was Albert Morgan and he was last in the line of Morgans of Woodford County. On the final leg of his journey, he refused to give up his driver’s license and there was no one to force him into it. He’d been driving and Mother was with him. They’d missed a sharp turn on one of the hilly back roads between Louisville and Lexington and slid off into a stream. They’d both evidently been knocked unconscious and went into hypothermia. By the time they were found the next morning, they were both dead.
We held a respectable funeral for Mother. We all pretended to grieve, but I don’t think there was anyone there who didn’t feel a sense of intense relief. It’s a very guilty feeling to not grieve for your own mother, but perhaps there was enough of her in me that it made it somehow tolerable. It seemed there was a purpose in being cold-hearted after all.
Worth had donated his family’s farm to an organization that maintained it as a sort of camp for kids with autism and other handicapping conditions. The children rode gentle, older horses and even spent the night, sitting around campfires and then sleeping in tents scattered about the grounds. Worth proclaimed it the Margaret LaViere Kids Camp and his mother had been wholly honored and visited it regularly with platters of homemade chocolate chip cookies and trays of flowers to plant along the many sidewalks. Dad helped her with these and the two of them had settled into a happy and stable way of life. I don’t think Dad grieved for Mother any longer than it took him to blink.
Worth’s businesses had thrived and while he no longer took on personal counseling patients, he did keep his hand in things. We had agreed that he would hire no more women as directors for his clinics. It wasn’t a sexist thing; it was my thing. He now had branches in over thirty cities and was gone for periods of time as he flew between them. He was no longer an entrepreneur. He had become a brand synonymous with overall good health and a balanced life. He had taken on speaking engagements and authored several books, all of which went toward making him a man of high visibility and recognition.
I had turned over my part in the Sunset Foundation to Brandon after Mrs. Jessup passed on. Sadly, even the best dialysis can only sustain you for a limited period of time. I do drive by there from time to time and the flowers and gardens, not to mention the picturesque stable with its carriages, have become a favorite for those out driving on a Sunday afternoon.
Worth wanted to send Ford to a military academy in Indiana. He insisted their credentials were impeccable and his chances of Ivy League school admission were far higher than the local school in Kentucky could provide. I knew what he said was right, but Ford was my life and I couldn’t imagine him being away from us. As it happened, my hand was forced.
Ford was in the seventh grade at Kendrick Middle. I received a call from John Beacham, the principal. “Mrs. LaViere, we have a bit of a situation here with your son.”
“What’s wrong?” I panicked instantly.
“He’s fine, but I think you’d better come down and check in with me at my office,” he requested. My voice was shaking when I said I’d be right down.
It was early spring and raining. I grabbed my rain slicker from the front hall closet and told Betsy where I was going.
I loved the reminiscent smell of schools. It was a combination of crayons and hot lunch, books and white paste glue. As I headed to the office, I scanned the drawings that had been taped to the wall along the hallway. It was amazing how so many children of the same age had such a variety of talent. This series was horses and while some of the drawings were not much above stick figures, a couple were far closer to portrait quality. I looked for one that might bear Ford’s name but didn’t see any. I was soon to learn why.
I was escorted to the principal’s office and took one of the small chairs opposite his desk. These were obviously most often occupied by errant students and not intended for comfort. Mr. Beacham shook my hand and retook his seat.
“What’s the problem, Mr. Beacham?” I began the conversation. “Where is Ford?”
“He’s in class, Mrs. LaViere,” he said calmly. I wondered how he could remain so calm with hundreds of screaming children surrounding him. “The problem is this.” He held up a drawing.
I looked at it momentarily and then burst out laughing. This took Beacham by surprise. “What’s wrong with that?” I asked.
He frowned, his glasses sliding down his bulbous nose and he was clearly at a loss of what to say. “I think it’s apparent that his drawing is rather indecent in nature,” he pointed out.
I looked again. “Mr. Beacham, we are a horse family. I own one of the premiere breeding facilities in the country, if not the world. Ford is exposed to the natural way of things on a daily basis. You are obviously offended by the protruding, enlarged organ of the sire as he is about to approach a dam in heat. This is quite normal and the fact that you’re offended only means that you’ve not been around farms.”
“All that may be the case, Mrs. LaViere, but we here at Kendrick find this highly offensive and certainly don’t want our children exposed to such images.”
I laughed again. “Not only is it anatomically correct, actually pretty well drawn, but I venture to guess that at least a quarter of the children have seen this before and aren’t the least bit, shall we say, uptight, about it?”
He grew quite flushed and I could only imagine what his bedroom was like at night. “We can’t have it, Mrs. LaViere. I really don’t know how else to make this clear, but we cannot have it. Your son will not do this again.”
“Or, what?” I challenged him, my ire sparked by his controlling attitude.
“Are you planning to encourage him to continue this sort of… of pornography, Mrs. LaViere?”
“Pornography? Mr. Beacham, if this is what you look at in order to get it up to mount your wife, then I pity you. Grow up!”
I stood up and made it out into the hallway before I started laughing. I giggled all the way to the car and couldn’t wait to call Worth and tell him all about it.
He was in Chicago, arranging for a new clinic opening. “You said what?” He couldn’t believe his ears. “Auggie, honey, for you and Ford and even me, that’s normal life, but not everyone lives on a horse farm. You have to respect the man’s job. He can’t have children running around drawing pictures of copulating animals. That’s one step away from drawing human pornography and who is going to draw that line? Most of all, you have to respect the job he has to do. I’m sorry, honey, I know you find it funny, but this is what the establishment is all about and they’ll take it out on Ford.”
“Worth! My god, we’re talking about an anatomical drawing. When does he get to climb out from under that puritanical rock and deal with life as it is.”
“Sweetheart, it’s not a matter of how you and I want to raise him. It’s a matter of what will be tolerated in the schools. We don’t control that, sweetheart. Once he climbs on that bus, he’s no longer under our supervision. You can’t expect them to take care of all those kids without having some kind of rules!”
I gaped at my phone. “Worth, I never realized you were such a cog in the system. I have to say I’m a little disappointed.” He was challenging my opinion and I never did handle that well.
“Auggie, please, sweetheart. Calm down and then call the principal and apologize. Tell him you’ll speak to Ford. You’re making this a bigger deal than it is.”
“I will not!”
“Auuuuugie…?”
“No! Worth, this is what’s wrong with kids. They don’t understand consequences. We keep their heads under wraps until they’re so old they don’t listen any more. Ford knows where colts come from. He’s watched them foaled!”
“Auggie, really. Is all this necessary?”
“Sorry, I bothered you!” I said and hung up.
I paced around the house, looking out the windows into the cool rain, wishing I hadn’t gotten angry with Worth. It had become rare that we even talked and I’d just wasted a golden opportunity. I texted him. Sorry. He texted in return. I love you my little hothead.
Ford came in from the bus and I decided not to talk about it just then. I wanted to sleep on it. We made a casual dinner and ate on TV trays in front of a nature series we both enjoyed. He was really involved in the show but my mind was reeling. I realized that his childhood years were coming to an end. I could no longer be the influence that determined who he would become. I suddenly saw myself in the role of my mother. She’d controlled my life, well beyond the years when she should be letting me make mistakes — and I’d hated it. I also knew that I carried her genes and even though I monitored my behavior, what I’d done to the principal showed me that I really couldn’t control it. Pair that with the controlling genes that Worth had, and I could see our child was doomed.
Ford went to school the next day as usual but then came the next phone call. I found myself across the desk from Principal Beacham one more time.
“Believe me, Mrs. LaViere, I did not wish to have you return.” Although I knew he wanted me to think that it was an inconvenience to me, in truth, I bet he felt childish after our conversation and would have preferred to stay away from me. “Your son had an incident today.”
“Just tell me.” I was curt.
“I’m sure you noticed that the drawings the children did of horses have been removed from the walls. We planned to send them home in advance of Derby. Ford didn’t receive his drawing, for obvious reasons, and he did not take it well. He made quite a fuss, as a matter of fact. His teacher sent him down here to talk to me.”
“Well, what did you expect? You singled him out and made him look as though he’d done something wrong. Do you raise children to not stand up for themselves as well, Mr. Beacham?
“Mrs. LaViere… really, there’s no need for us to go into that again. I have the drawing here in my drawer and I’m prepared to release it to you. I’m asking that you explain to your son the nature of the school’s policy on this matter and ask him to respect those guidelines. I expect you to respect them as well, Mrs. LaViere. Good day.” With that, he opened a folder on his desk that was obviously placed there strategically for this sort of dismissal. I didn’t budge.
“Is there something else, Mrs. LaViere?”
“If you don’t mind, Mr. Beacham, before you run and hide in your folder of old paperwork, perhaps you could hand over my son’s drawing?” I stared at him and he flushed.
“Oh, yes, of course.” He wasn’t quite done yet. “Mrs. LaViere, if there’s another situation of this nature in the future, I will have to bring it to the attention of the school board and it could result in your son being expelled.”
“Really, Mr. Beacham?” I took the drawing. “If another situation of this nature should occur in the future and you find it necessary to make such a big deal out of something you should be adult enough to handle, I will be forced to bring the matter before the school board as well as the editor of the Courier. I’m sure you know them? The big newspaper in town? I believe this is an issue of free speech, which you might remember is a constitutional right. There is nothing pornographic here, Principal Beacham. This is nature. You might tune in to a bit of National Geographic from time to time and see how it’s done.” I left.
I was shaken as I got into the car; not by the principal, but by my lack of ability to restrain myself. Now Ford was displaying the same characteristics even though I’d said nothing to him about the incident. That meant his natural tendencies were surfacing.