Winds of the Isle

By Xlibris US

A young Irishman is an indentured saddle and yoke apprentice for an elderly master. The young boy is named John Lockridge; the elderly master is Master Haughton.

One day, John has a brilliant idea for a new winning saddle. He has created a winner.

Master Haughton was horrified when he began to explain a new saddle that was even more advanced than the design that Master Haughtons leather shop was working on.

Soon, Johns saddle began to win. The Irish racing mobsters took notice. The new saddle wins so many races that the mobsters had a contract on Johns head.

His father offered Britt, an Englishman, a lot of money to take John back to England, along with his winning saddle. John and Britt went on their way to England.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 13, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499060256

Book preview

Chapter One

An Inept Apprentice

From his old wooden shutter frame window, Master Haughton could easily see the dust laden road leading up to the slight knoll; from there, one only needed to travel a short distance to reach his leather and harness shop.

Bligh me! he muttered to himself, Ah`m gonna take a yard a skin off that young lad! I got work at do, no time fer this standin` about!

After for what seemed like a long time, his young apprentice, John Lockridge, emerged slowly, coming into view on the horizon of the dusty road.

Well, it’s about tha devil’s time! Don’t ye know how to be on time, boy? I ought to whip you good, because obviously your father hasn’t taught ye what work is! Master Haughton scowled when John poked his sweat dampened face into the room for the first time that day.

I’m so sorry Master Haughton! John hastily apologized, knowing this wasn’t the first time he had been late. Mr. Haughton glared at him and demanded, "What’s ye’s reason this time?

Mah fatha`s old rooster took off again…an` well none of us got up,…. ah swear!

Aye, a likely excuse, but one more time an` I jus` might have another ` prentice boy a`learnin here, Master Haughton replied as pipe smoke billowed from his nostrils, Jus` remember, lad… you ain`t tha first one or the last one to come through here!

I’ll be minding that next time, sir, John replied, averting his eyes, his face downcast. Although he said nothing, Master Haughton did actually believe that the young man was sincere.

Now then, tha leather came in from the tannery. Ye need at get it off tha cart an` get tha cart turned back around.

Yes sir, John replied, knowing that this was his punishment for being late, and Master Haughton was being especially harsh since this wasn’t the first time. Turning the cart around, a task difficult enough for two men, much less a younger one on his way up, took longer because Master Haughton didn’t assist John and as if to add insult to injury, that was just half the job; afterward, he had to load all the mammoth hides onto the wagon. Master Haughton walked ahead and then turned about, commanding, An` mind ye, lad, have em` laid out fer each pattern.

Yes, Master Haughton, came the fast reply, Hides for each pattern.

While ye are doin` that, I’m goin` to tha cobbler’s station because I received word that his oxen are fat now an` need bigger yokes.

I’ll get it done, Master Haughton, John replied as he eye-balled the task ahead, thinking, If only that stupid rooster had woke us all up like it’s supposed to…this wouldn’t be happening right now. He dared not speak his thoughts, though.

Get moving, boy! The old man’s voice boomed. With that order, Master Haughton left John all alone in the saddle and yoke shop.

Surveying the work before him a moment longer, he went to work, first inspecting the hides and then sorting them by size and grouping each by the pattern that would fit.

The hot sun bore down and, slowly but surely, the work progressed. John hummed as he worked, though he was not a singer and remained off key. At first the work seemed to take an eternity, but it finally neared an end and the aged, wooden emerged from beneath his pile of unfinished hides. After finished his work, he faced the daunting task of turning the cart around, but pulling and tugging at the front only brought the cart to an angle of about sixty degrees. After once again battling for an eternity as with the hides, the cart faced the opposite direction. The entire event consumed most of the day. Somewhere in the middle of all of it, Master Haughton returned, walking past him without a word.

The sun crept westward in the sky. John’s muscles and bones ached. He let out a groan, wiping sweat his brow as he cracked his back and knuckles. Looking over his work, he smiled to himself. He studied his hands, now covered in dirt and grime, and said, This bloke needs a drink.

The cold well water cooled him down as he slung some on top of his head, his face and down his back before drinking some from his cupped hands. Master Haughton would see once and for all that he had misjudged John based on rumors. There had been whispered comments about a so-called half lazy country bumpkin. Others had described John as ‘a certain Irish lad that had no work ethics and cared more for himself than his role in the leather trade. The less frequently heard rumors hinted that a new lad might replace him.

Master Haughton was difficult to work for and demanded only the best from his apprentices; only a few from a dozen or so had made it completely through the three year program. He also had a small mountain of parchment work to fill out, and if a potential apprentice couldn’t answer all of his questions verbally or in writing, they were not allowed to work for him. As part of their contract, once they were certified leather craftsmen, they agreed to move away, discontinue any association with Master Haughton’s shop and not compete with him for the same business.

Aye lad! Master Haughton acknowledged as he approached the well.

Good day to ya sir, John replied, I finished my work, Master Haughton, so is there anything else?

Let’s us go see about that lad!

Both Master Haughton and John stepped back into the shop to view the leather hides and the organization of patterns, as well as the orientation of the cart. John waited for some sort of remark or reaction, but his shoulders slumped when Master Haughton said nothing. He shuffled his feet as he thoughtfully walked along. John’s heart began to hammer in his chest, and then it sank. Master Haughton said nothing about the completed work, but redirected the conversation.

That one is for ol` boy Rutledge, he stated as he pointed, That one, for Peter O’Brien, an` that one for tha race stable.

Walking along, he explained to John what patterns best fit what customers, but didn’t explain the final product, except for the hide pattern destined for the race stable.

They want speed, boy. That’s what they want, and they will try anything to get it. A new saddle might give them speed, so they want one. Ah need you ta help me tool one out. It took me awhile ta get back here ‘cause ah was summoned to tha stable an` spoke with Jeremy Ledbetter.

You want my help? Why thank ye, Master Haughton! John replied, no longer worried that his work was unsatisfactory.

Don’t get too excited, boy. Before that, ya need to cut the wood for the oxen’s yoke for the cobbler’s station. I`ll do tha bridle an` he needs it all Friday next.

"Yes Master Haughton, and when do ye need tha wood cut? John asked.

Tomorra, an` after that, tha stable’s work, but it’s getting late. That’s all tha work ah have for ya today. You can leave if you want.

Yes, Master Haughton, John replied as he swept his wet hair backwards.

John left the shop in a more pleasant mood than when he’d arrived because Master Haughton wanted his help in tooling out a new saddle, and John thought that was a very good sign. Master Haughton had never requested that before. The old, grizzled master wasn’t one to compliment anyone, either. If he liked someone or thought they held promise, he almost never said so. He showed confidence in them and his gratitude by helping the young men in whom he saw promise develop their skills. Lost in thought, he smiled to himself and, in his heart, thought he could see himself making saddles for years to come.

A donkey pulling a wagon almost ran into him as he daydreamed about the context of Master Haughton’s comment. John jumped and took one enormous step sideway, narrowly avoiding a potentially serious, perhaps deadly, collision. He screamed and coughed as dust caked his face.

Hey boy! yelled the driver, Get outta the road!

Realizing his situation, he stepped back and let the wagon pass by. Only then did he begin to realize how close he had come to being hurt or killed and it sent chills up his spine, but his work for the day wasn’t over. There was still work on the farm, as well as any property maintenance that his father would have for him to do.

Chapter Two

Out with the Old, in with the New

While John was at work, his father chased the old rooster about the farm. It took him about an hour of chasing it around the farm before he managed to catch it.

If you can’t wake us up each morning anymore, John’s father told the rooster, you’re pretty useless, and we farmers have to make use of things. We ain’t got too much, and we have to eat. With that, he cut off its head with a dull axe.

Well, it’ll be some good eatin’ tonight, He sighed, although he felt sorry that he had to kill the rooster. It had been a fine rooster. But at that moment, he had to go get a new rooster, so he attached the horses to his old wagon and rode into town.

Three hours later, he arrived home with a brand new rooster in a wooden crate. He opened the crate and let the rooster out. It scampered out and crowed. Happily, John said, Yes, you will make a good alarm in the morn. Don’t think I’ll need to be shooting you anytime soon.

He put the horses back in the barn, made himself lunch, and went about his chores. They normally would have been done in the morning, but his trip to town for a new rooster had taken precedence.

Just before seven that evening, John returned home, covered in dust. Dark circles had formed under his eyes. John was at least pleased that his father had purchased a new rooster during the course of that day; he wasn’t pleased that the old one had been killed, though. Being new to the farm, the rooster jumped and clucked all about the chicken yard as he became acquainted with his new surroundings.

Hey, Pa, where’d the new rooster come from? John yelled out, unsure exactly where his father was.

Aye, son, John’s father announced with a smile, Look at him! Got him in town today!

Where are you? John asked, hearing him, but not seeing him. He stepped out of the coop with his hands full of eggs, When did you find time to get a new rooster? John asked.

Oh, I went into town after this morning’s mess and bought him. He’s a good one he is, he muttered, turning his head slightly toward the new rooster.

Ah`m glad fer that, John replied, If we have another morning like this morning, I might be out of work. Master Haughton done told me as such.

Ah., John’s father replied, Well…as it happens, I did see him. No, you can’t be late anymore. He made it very clear indeed that if you are late again, there will be consequences. He tol` me about it when ah saw him by the cobbler’s station.

John was taken back and completely surprised. He eyes widened and he said, He did?

Yes, and you need your job, John’s father said. He sighed and said, Well…this new rooster`ll take care o` that.

Without being asked, John took some of the eggs away from his father, as it was too much for one man to carry safely. Both of them strolled up to the walk that led to the white-washed country manor.

Ya know, when your mother was alive, I never had to carry eggs. We all had jobs…. that was hers ta do!

I know that, father….but ah cain`t get away from the leather shop ta do it all, John replied, stepping into the house daintily so that he wouldn’t drop any eggs. The eggs were carefully deposited in a heap of straw. The rooster was cooking over a blazing fire. John removed his shoes and tried to relax, sitting down briefly and declaring, My feet hurt.

Well, life hurts most times, John’s father mumbled in response, but John knew not to respond.

Life had been particularly hard on both of them since John’s mother had passed away nine months before. His married, older sister, Adeline, lived several hamlets away and rarely came about. It was John’s mother that suggested working at the leather shop in the apprentice program, as young John showed an almost lackluster attitude for farming. He was deemed inept, even by his father, and daydreamed a lot during planting season.

Truthfully, he had never been interested in farming; he just didn’t have the courage to tell his father that. He wanted to do a more profitable trade that wouldn’t involve the weather. All it took to wreck a year’s worth of almost back breaking work was too much or too little rain, sun or cold. Most of the young boys had already taken up apprenticeship programs with qualified masters of various trades. It seemed almost by happenstance, or perhaps luck, that John got in with Master Haughton.

Being frugal, John’s father had let most of the full time domestic help go when his wife passed away. He only hired them back when the need arose. John was not fully excused from helping about the house. He was expected to cut and stack firewood, keep fresh well water in the house and trim the trees about the property.

Things had been different when his mother had been alive. She’d kept a staff of regulars over the years, and there was never any need to do any of the work. John’s sister had married very well, into a prominent family, and had been catered to over the years with hand maidens who hand-tailored her sweeping dresses and did all the work around her house. She almost never came back home to visit and check on her father or brother because she didn’t want to be reminded of her past and of the loss of her mother. Although she never talked about it, her mother’s death had pained her greatly.

Since that time, John’s father, who had once been more affluent, had been reduced to doing many of the menial chores, things that were once taken for granted as being done by someone else. Everyday, John’s father went to bed exhausted and with very little to show for it. John himself had many ambitions, but being a farm lord like his father wasn’t one of them.

Chapter 3

An Acquired Skill

The trust in the new rooster didn’t lead to disappointment, as he did indeed squawk and crow as the sun appeared over the horizon the next day. John ate his hard boiled eggs so quickly that he hardly tasted them, then scurried out the door, mounting his horse so quickly that he forgot to bid farewell to his father.

John looked forward to helping Master Haughton with the construction of the new saddle and wondered how different it would be than the old styles. Anytime Master Haughton asked for help on a new saddle or special help on anything, it was certainly always a compliment. John rode at a gallop, knowing he couldn’t be late.

As usual, the old leather master was at the shop first but this time John wasn’t late. It was almost a ritual for the old leather craftsman to be there first. John went right to work on the wood yoke, remembering the directions given to him the day before. A wood plane carefully scraped the sides, while a saw and wood rasp crafted out the arch for the beasts neck. The customer was an important one, one that had been coming to the shop for years. Although John did all of the work, only Master Haughton would get the credit. If there was going to be any criticism, it would fall to the apprentice that did the work. Only in rare cases did Master Haughton acknowledge the work of a young lad that was just learning the trade.

Master Haughton left John alone, but kept a wondering eye on the work involved in converting a piece of wood into a useful well-crafted oxen’s yoke. This yoke was only the fourth that John had made from start to finish. Master Haughton had made hundreds of yokes in his lifetime, but one day, had delegated the work to his apprentices. It had been several years since he had made a complete one.

His young apprentice had a keen eye for detail; although still new to the yoke making business, he labored slowly and carefully, as to not create splits or gouges. For two and a half days, he worked slowly and meticulously to transform a block of wood into a symmetrical yoke.

The customer only ordered a yoke, with no lash hooks or chains, because the old ones would be used. Master Haughton kept an eye on John as he worked, but only a slight shrug of the shoulders or a wry grin provided any communication. With all of the sharp corners gone and the arch symmetrical, it was starting to take shape, and Master Haughton silently marveled at how steady John’s hands remained. The closer it got to the end, the more Master Haughton noticed how beautifully crafted it really was. The yoke sat atop a work table as John cleaned his work area in preparation for final surface finishes.

Aye lad! he finally mused, Ah don`t think any oxen`ll get outta that. The cobbler will be here tomorra ta pay fer it.

John wiped the perspiration and sawdust away from his eyes and off his forehead, quite surprised that he had finally taken notice.

You think he’ll like what he sees? John asked.

Uh…ye know, boy, I can’t see why he wouldn’t, but if he don’t, he just won’t take it….but that shouldn’t happen.

Ah hope not! John replied.

A smile came across the old leather craftsman’s face as he commented, Lad, yer not tha first one ta make a yoke in this shop… but I gotta hand it to ya, yours looks better than most.

Why thank ye, sir, I worked hard, John replied.

Tomorra tha leather work starts, so if your fingers ain`t so tired, you’ll be helpin` with the pattern. While you been doing this for the past couple a days, I been gettin` ready…like I say, tha cobbler`ll be here tomorra so finish it up.

Thank ye Master Haughton, it’ll be ready. As you can see, there is only tha surface work left.

John continued with his work while Master Haughton prepared for the work on the leather saddles the following morning.

Well lad, Master Haughton said after an hour or so, Yer yoke looks just fine ta me, so go ahead an` run along now… we’ll get to tha saddles tomorra.

Yes, Master Haughton, John replied, wiping down the yoke so it wouldn’t be covered in dust the next morning. He was now in the clean-up process. Master Haughton smiled to himself as he felt in his pocket.

An` one more thing, lad, Master Haughton added, A lil` something fer ya.

As John approached Master Haughton, he was rewarded with a handful of coins, the sum of which totaled more than his weekly allotment.

Why thank ye, sir, but why? He replied.

Ah,…its no never mind ta me, Master Haughton added, As a matter o` fact … tha saddles have ben paid for in advance, so you just run along now. Stop at tha market an` buy yerself a lil` something.

Why thank ye sir, John again replied. John didn’t go to the market, but went straight home. He wasn’t sure what he wanted or what his father might need, and his bonus was fairly large. John thought that maybe after buying the new rooster, his father might need the extra money for food or other necessities.

The next day, business at the leather shop started out slow, which was fine with Master Haughton. He didn’t like having work in progress for any potential customer to see. The yoke and saddle orders were a private privilege, not available to each customer because they were so costly. Average people usually traded other goods for new yokes or saddles as they needed them, and if they couldn’t do that, they had to make do with what they had or go without.

At last, the cobbler appeared in the doorway; Master Haughton gestured towards John, his silent cue to get out of view and away from the table that the yoke occupied. He knew that gesture very well and wordlessly made himself scarce. Not only did Master Haughton keep the customer’s orders secret, he also didn’t want his apprentices about when customers were visiting.

Ol` man Haughton! announced the stout cobbler, No need ta ask about my yoke, is there?

No need at all, Master Haughton stated, smiling because he knew that the cobbler was teasing him. He knew that the yoke was done. The cobbler was directed to the work table and Master Haughton held the yoke for his inspection.

Ah`ll say, the customer added as he looked the yoke over, Another fine job from Master Haughton’s Leather and Bridle Shop, very good indeed!

Bring yer wagon? Master Haughton asked.

Indeed ah did, the cobbler replied. Master Haughton then picked the heavy yoke up and proceeded toward the door.

Ah`ll say! the cobbler remarked, You gettin` too old fer all that kinda lifting.

Ah, you’re just as young as ya feel, Master Haughton replied.

The handcrafted yoke was placed on a slight mound of straw in the rickety old wagon. The cobbler paid for his new yoke, still silently gushing over the quality.

As the wagon drove into the road’s horizon, and John could hear that the customer was gone, he reappeared from the back room. Master Haughton sensed that and gave him another head gesture to disappear again because another customer was coming. It was the customer from the stable, the one that wanted the new saddle. John secluded himself in the old stockroom, just out of sight, but within eavesdropping distance. He could tell by the firmness in Masters Haughton’s silent gesture that this was another important customer.

Between the gap in the old logs of the wall, John could barely see the caller, but he knew it indeed was someone from the stable or local racetrack. A stout, portly well dressed man introduced himself to Master Haughton as being the new track manager.

The conversation between the two proved difficult to comprehend because John couldn’t hear parts of it, but from what he did hear, he gathered that the visitor worked at the track, was new at his job and was just getting around meeting the vendors that supplied the track.

It was obvious that the man wanted a tour of the leather shop and examples of their work. Master Haughton obliged, taking the man to the leather patterns that were to be tooled into unsold saddles. Along the way, various work areas in the shop were pointed out and explained. Master Haughton could see John hidden away in the old room and winked as they passed by. Now that they were closer to the stockroom, John could discern that the man’s name was Farley, William Farley, to be exact. Mr. Farley had been hired by the stables to promote horse racing. He stated that his predecessor was just a lazy Englishman that thought more of his own horses than the track’s concerns.

Master Haughton was horrified when he began to explain a new saddle that was even more advanced than the design that Master Haughton’s leather shop was working on. It featured a small seat, stirrups that were located further back, it was lightweight and easily placed on and taken and off the horse, which was indeed a radical change. Mr. Farley went on to add that he hired on from the other side of Ireland, where the new saddle was just beginning to catch on with the jockeys who raced their horses in the races. Mr. Farley handed Master Haughton a diagram he’d drawn of the new saddle.

Master Haughton studied the man’s ideas for awhile, knowing that such a saddle would be very costly to make; furthermore, since its presence in the local area wasn’t well known, it would be a difficult sell. Master Haughton knew that the local stables didn’t take too kindly to new ideas that were not proven successful when the old ones had been around for years and worked well.

Mr. Farley, your new saddle looks interesting, but I really don’t see that making such a saddle would be cost effective. It would be expensive to make and not sell very well because it’s new and nobody knows how it works, Master Haughton said.

Ignoring Master Haughton’s comment because he was trying to convince him that attempting to make the saddles was a good idea, the visitor continued to explain that big money spenders at the races were lining up to bet on the horse with the radical, new saddle. Races were won more often than not with horses that were outfitted and trained with the new saddles, although not too many people were aware of that yet.

Master Haughton just stroked his gray beard, smiled and again mentioned again that the new saddle would be a difficult sell, although not impossible. Besides, Master Haughton informed the visitor that the local horse races were mostly for the lower class, not affluent businessmen that could lose money and shrug it off. He added that the bets weren’t even a fifth of what the hamlets on the other side of Ireland could afford.

Disheartened but trying not to show it, Mr. Farley implored Master Haughton to think on it, and if he was interested, he could travel to the other side to see the new saddle for himself, at no cost to him or the leather shop. Mr. Farley himself would take him there. The men eventually made their way to the front of the old stone building, where the visitor again expressed his delight in the quality of the hides and other work that he had seen in the shop. With a few more parting comments, John saw the visitor wave as he mounted a horse with a traditiOlliel saddle. John came out of the old storage room and witnessed Master Haughton shaking his head in disbelief. The old master seemed amused as a smile came across his face as he noticed John’s presence.

Mah lad, that man has dreams of money bags! Master Haughton declared.

John briefly shielded his eyes from the sun, staring out the front window, and responded, Oh, Master Haughton, how is that?

Well John, this side of Ireland isn’t where tha money is. Oh, we have had racing saddles made before, but nothing of what he is sayin`.

John was almost surprised that Master Haughton would discuss this with him because usually all he got was a stern warning to get back to work and forget the visitor’s discussion.

How would that be, sir? How’s this one different? John asked.

Tha new saddles give tha rider more control, Master Haughton said, with that Master Haughton imitated the action of the reins and how he envisioned how the new saddle would affect the posture of its rider and thus, create better control. John was impressed with his mock actions, as it appeared that the knowledge was coming from an experienced teacher and leather master.

It does all that? John asked in disbelief.

I should know. When I was younger, we rode that way as well.

Why’s there no money in it, Master Haughton? John asked.

The faster tha horses run, the more that they will bet on tha winner. We horse lovers like what we know works. A saddle like that could throw a rider off in the turn, but what do I know? Ah`ve only been in tha saddle business all mah life.

You certainly seem to know a lot, Master Haughton….when do we start on the saddles? John asked.

I’m forgetting myself again, mused Master Haughton, We need to get to work.

Both he and John approached the hides and positioned them for cutting. Master Haughton’s knife cut through the leather with swift ease. John watched, appreciating the old man’s long, smooth cuts.

Placing leather in front of John, Master Haughton advised, Here lad, give it this. John took the knife and tried to duplicate what he had just seen. It was difficult and he was still somewhat clumsy.

As John tried to cut the leather, Master Haughton’s ever watchful eyes observed and he spoke almost sharply, Naw… lad… one cut, turn that blade that way!

After several attempts John caught on, but his skills were far from the skill and the style of the master.

Do these, Master Haughton pointed out, Slow and steady at first an` keep that blade away from your belly. We don’t need you getting hurt, so stand to tha side.

John stood to the side and resumed cutting. It was a little easier, but not up to the speed of Master Haughton’s skill. Master Haughton stepped away to observe and offer comments, but even he thought John seemed be catching on very well. An hour passed with Master Haughton watching and offering comments. The whole table of leather was now cut and now, if one had a vivid imagination, they could envision a saddle.

Hey lad, lemme see that blade, Master Haughton requested. With the wood handled blade in hand, he sharpened it on a whetting stone in almost no time at all.

Once again, John was in awe of the skill that Master Haughton displayed, as the blade was whipped back and forth rapidly to produce a very sharp edge. Once again, Master Haughton cut the leather into various shapes. John watched with wonder at the efficiency of the pattern cutting and the separated edges of the parted leather. Master Haughton never took his eyes off a single cut until it was completed.

There lad, he finally said, as he pointed at the patterns with a quick turn of his head.

John sensed his need to acknowledge that the basic cutting was complete as Master Haughton proudly stood there next to his work.

Ah do say, Master Haughton, perhaps you should have gone to the medical institute.

Master Haughton smiled and then burst into laughter as perspiration ran down his cheeks and onto his gray beard.

My hands ain’t that steady, lad. Nobody dies if I mess up, and it took a lot of years to get as good as I am. Years of experience mah lad…years of experience. Now… I don’t expect your cuts ta be just as good, but quality comes with time and skill. Here…cut the rest of tha pattern around here… an` nah, I would have made a bad doctor. Like I say…time is the best teacher.

Once again the knife was sharpened, but this time John did the sharpening and Master Haughton stood behind him and observed.

Both sides equal, my lad, Master Haughton said. John worked nervously, but eventually grasped the basic idea of what he was being taught. Back and forth the knife passed over the whetting stone, not with the same speed as Master Haughton’s, but after repetition it finally was sharp.

Very good, but that should have taken half tha time. Remember lad, time is money an` I`m being paid by customers who ordered the saddles.

Yes Master Haughton, John replied, I’ll do it faster tha next time, an` Master Haughton…how do you know when its time ta sharpen your knife?

Like ah said, time is the best teacher. Your hand will tell you. Look only at your work and feel tha knife as it cuts tha leather.

Yes, Master Haughton.

John went back to work, cutting the lines around the pattern that Master Haughton had previously laid out. Looking back at his teacher at the end of several cuts he noticed that he smiled and gave the nod to signal that it was time for another sharpening. After another sharpening, he went back to work. Even though he was a novice, he knew it was time to sharpen it because he could feel that the knife was dragging, instead of slicing.

When he looked up again, Master Haughton was gone. He obviously had left John with enough confidence that the leather would be cut, although perhaps not with the speed of Master Haughton, but John would learn that speed, along with skill, and time would be the best teacher. Piles of patterns would have to be cut in the same manner. It was laborious, but Master Haughton had left John with the task at hand, so he knew he’d been entrusted with it.

John remembered that making yokes was a similar experience; Master Haughton would give instruction on the skill, watch, perhaps offer more instruction to help him improve his new skill, and then leave John to his own devices. That’s what he’d done now, so John focused on his task completely and didn’t think about the time that passed or anything else.

Aye, lad, Master Haughton said as he approached later, Almost time to quit for the day. Run along now. I’ll sharpen tha knife fer tomorra. We might have more visitors tomorra, but just run along for now and I’ll lock tha door.

A relatively early departure from the leather shop was indeed a treat, as Master Haughton usually worked after hours for important customers. He expected his apprentices to have the same ambitions. John did as he was told and went home.

Chapter 4

An Investment Discovery

John could see his father approach the house with a milk ladle around his neck. Two pails of milk dangled dangerously, occasionally coming to the point of spilling over. This job was generally the hired hands’ responsibility. Since John’s mother passed, though, the hired hands had been let go and John’s father took on the brunt of the chores. Occasionally, hired hands would be brought back in situations where both John and his father couldn’t handle the work by themselves.

Father! exclaimed John, Give me one end or that milk will end up feeding tha ants.

John’s father scowled and took a few more steps. More milk spilled and his leg started to cramp. John watched the event, cringing. His father finally gave up one side of the shoulder ladle and both he and John carried the milk to the house.

Aye lad, John’s father said as he put his side of the heavy load down, Ah`m not a young man anymore…maybe someday ah`ll know that. There’s salt pork in the corner…I’m so hungry I could eat a horse! That lifting takes a lot out of an old man like me.

You’re too old fatha, to be doing this. The last thing we need is for you to be hurt. There’d be a big doctor debt if that happened, and who would take care of things around here? I can’t do it all. I have to work and bring in what money I can, John reminded him.

I have to be useful, too, or I may as well be dead. What good is a farmer that can’t work? John’s father asked as he hung his head.

You can still do some things, but you have to slow down before you get hurt. Ya need to hire Britt back, whether we can afford it or not. I know he’s English an` all, but ah don’t rightly know anybody stronger.

Ah… that Englishman, his father mused, Strong man he is. He was here awhile back helping me move tha old tree, and there is nothin` wrong with him except that he throws back that ale a lot.

Ah know that, John responded, He’s seen tha magistrate more than once, but he is strong… and that’s what ye need. I mean, fatha, you don’t need to carry all that anymore. That’s what hires are for.

What’d ya doin` for old man Haughton these days? his father inquired, changing the subject.

Well, John responded, Yokes fer tha oxen an` some ridin` saddles. I’ve been busy cutting` leather for saddles for the stables.

Keepin` ya busy is he?

Much so fatha, John responded.

Yer mother wanted a good apprentice fer ya, and I can’t think of any better than Haughton. He makes you work, but a good day’s work makes boys into men.

John’s father selected a huge knife and cut away a portion of salt pork, That should do it fer tha both of us. The rest of it is in tha kettles.

Before he asked what his father meant, John looked around. Observing that several kettles were hung over the fire, John cautiously approached it to look into them. One contained potatoes, while the rest had carrots and cabbage. The slab of pork was gently lowered into the pot with the potatoes.

Won’t be long, his father said as he arranged the table for the evening meal.

Mama liked pork with boiled potatoes, John observed as he stirred the pots with the cooking ladles.

Indeed she did, came the fast reply, For a long time, that’s all she cooked, but that was different days then… we were young back then, years ago and all.

Father, on tha way home tomorra, I can stop and see Britt, if ya want and see if he could come out here and help.

Well… if ya do, ah could keep him busy for a awhile.

Both of them served up the hot and tasty meal and ate it all in silence. While they ate, the sun went down, casting a huge orange glow in the horizon. Both John and his father were tired, so they went to bed just after supper. Neither of them stirred once they fell asleep and before they knew it, the rooster crowed.

After working in the leather shop the next day, John thought about the often drunk English hired hand that sometimes worked on his father’s farm. When he wasn’t intoxicated, he worked hard. When he was, he’d just cuss until he fell over and fell asleep.

Well, his help is better than no help, John said to himself. Walking left instead of right he took a foot path across an old pasture, and then continued down a dusty road. The familiar white stone house came into view, partially hidden directly behind a grove of trees. As he neared the house, he heard the sound of persistent hammering.

Aye, John Lockridge! How are you doing? Britt yelled from atop the barn’s roof.

Looking up, then shielding his eyes from the sun, John observed Britt, sweating and sunburned, with a hammer in his hand.

Britt! he yelled back, Fixin` those roofs are ye?

Trying to anyway, Britt replied quickly, What brings ye to these parts?

Didn’t mean ta stop ye from your work, but I was wonderin` if we could get ya back over to the farm sometimes. As ya might know, my fatha is gettin` up in years…an` caint do much.

Nice thing about working` for your fatha is that he pays right away. He’s not like tha rest o` the folks I do work for, who pay some now an` some later. I always liked tha ol` man, and I suppose he does need more help now. Like ye say, he is getting up in years. What about you? Can’t you do some things? Britt asked.

I do what I can, but we can only do so much, John replied.

I heard you was workin` for ol` Master Haughton, Britt stated.

I am, John replied as he continued to shield his eyes from the sun.

Well… ah can’t tell ye how many times your ol` man threw my bail fer the magistrate. I still drink, but not as much. I got some time, I think, lad. I thought of your father and how he might need help. I’d been meanin` to talk with him soon anyway.

I wish I could be more help to him, you know what I mean? It’s just that I work at tha leather shop an` I don`t have the time, John replied.

Your mother was a saint, Britt observed as he wiped his forehead, If she’d had her way, I`d still be there all the time….rest her blessed soul anyway! But mistakes and mishaps happen. We are all just humans, boy. Remember to make your choices wisely or you might live to regret them.

John knew exactly what he was referring to; some months before, there was an altercation between Britt and one of the stableman when Britt had been drunk. Both men had thrown punches and cussed. At the conclusion of the fight, which no one had witnessed, both men’s eyes were black and blue and both of them had other bruises and cuts. A lantern had fallen during the fight and the barn was soon ablaze.

John’s mother had sided with Britt, even though he was drunk. John’s father didn’t know what to make of the situation. His barn was nearly a complete loss. In the end, the stableman was fired and Britt was hired only when needed, and only allowed to come to work sober. Britt was also only allowed to work alone. The stableman had vowed vengeance, but was never heard from again.

It sounds to me like you learned from what happened, and that’s the important thing, John said.

It’s just unfortunate that it took your pa’s barn burning, Britt said.

You didn’t mean to burn the barn down, John said, Besides, it wasn’t totally destroyed.’

Close enough, Britt mumbled.

Anyway, you are willing to help us, right? John asked, Certainly, Britt replied.

Well, bligh me! John replied with a bit of surprise, I’ll just tell fatha that you’ll be by fer some work, then.

Tell me lad… what goin` on with ol` Master Haughton these days?

Yokes and saddles, John replied, Yokes and saddles that I must say he is very skillfully able to make.

Well… ah heard that there’s a racin` bloke lookin` to make new track business.

Ah know, an he can bloody well keep his races. He is bad news, or at least that’s what Master Haughton seems to think. It seems, too, that he wants to draw a different group of people than the ones we do. Is it really worth it, for the type a crowd that’ll be here? I am not so sure. It isn’t what it seems, and may be bad. Master Haughton tol` me as much, John announced defiantly as he crossed his arms.

Ah…. my lad, Britt responded in a lower tone, No need to be like that. Just think all of tha new business… new stables…tha fastest horses… new inns to keep all tha people in…even if races fail, tha people will keep on coming. That’s what my fatha told me back in England, an` indeed it happened just as he said!

You went to horse races? John asked, his mouth gaping in surprise.

All tha time, Britt replied as he stepped down from his ladder, and just in time. The conversation with Britt was cut short by a sudden downpour.

That’s why ah wanted to do the roof today, Britt said as he brushed past John at a quick pace.

Go by my fatha`s house, John reminded him, He’ll give ya some work, but I gotta run. With that John turned and bolted toward his father’s house. Brit just stood on his porch and laughed at the situation with John. He had been the same way when he was John’s age. John heard him laughing as he walked away, but his stomach growled insistently and he quickened his pace.

Later that night, when his head hit the pillow, never had the bed seemed like satin under him and his dreams were pleasant. He didn’t stir until the rooster roused him. His father was already up making eggs for breakfast. John dressed in haste, washed and made his way to the kitchen.

Aren’t you feeling well, father? John asked, You are never up early.

I couldn’t sleep, His father replied as he set a plate of over-easy eggs before his son.

These be a challenge to make over the fire, John stated, beaming.

But you love them eggs and your mama did it, His father stated as he made himself an egg.

A few minutes later, John dashed out the door after thanking his father for breakfast. He mounted his horse and cantered to work.

Rough hewn leather saddle pieces soon began taking the shape of saddles and wooden models of a horse’s girth provided a base to work from to determine strap length for the saddles. Master Haughton’s wife, Anna, had completed much of the stitching; her handiwork was equal to that of her experienced husband. She rarely involved herself with the general business, but did enjoy stitching the pieces, sometimes. John had worked hard on the wooden horse models in addition to keeping up with the expected quota of oxen yokes.

He worked hard that week and made a little extra because he impressed Master Haughton with his attention to detail. This time, he did go to market to buy a new hen. When he returned home, his father seemed pleased.

One day soon after that, when Master Haughton and John were busy with yet another saddle, a visitor arrived. Although the visitor had no intentions of purchasing anything, he made it clear that he knew that the shop had saddles in production and explained his own ideas of design, some of which were variations from their own. As usual Master Haughton rebuffed the design.

This time, John didn’t hide in the presence of visitors. The visitor spoke of saddles with authority, like someone who had been around the track long enough to know about current trends and designs, as they became about obsolete from year-to-year. The visitor insisted that the saddles, although excellent in quality, would be obsolete in a year and new designs would be introduced.

His specific ideas were ahead of the currently accepted trends. John listened intently, but Master Haughton was hearing little of it. From a practical standpoint, in Master Haughton’s mind, if a saddle wasn’t worn out, then it was still good. Besides, he argued to the visitor, a year would give the saddle a substantial amount of time to be broken in.

After hearing Master Haughton’s arguments, the visitor assured both of them that he would be back before the year was out to order custom saddles, as the current ones would be obsolete by then. Master Haughton shook his gray head in disbelief. How, he reasoned, could the new saddles that he and John were currently working on be obsolete in a year, when the horse racing and stable customers had ordered them and they said nothing of it?

The visitor continued with a new concept that they had not heard of, the concept of local businesses sponsoring a racehorse and then sharing in the profits. Master Haughton raised an eyebrow and thought there would be something in it for everybody. Master Haughton gained a better understanding of the purpose of the visitor’s unexpected appearance, but still believe couldn’t he would consider a saddle obsolete after a year, when saddles endure continued use for years with good care. John, on the other hand, readily understood the basic concept of the visitor’s ideas, but new saddle designs were unpredictable. It could go either way, he knew. Either the new saddles would sell or not, depending on whether the horse won or lost.

After supper that same day, John relayed the conversation between the visitor and Master Haughton to his father. John’s vocal enthusiasm could hardly be curbed as he gestured with his hands and discussed the many benefits that the sponsor program could offer. His father couldn’t help but smile. It was legal, John said, and everybody who had money to invest could be a winner. The program seemed flawless, but John’s father knew better. Those that invested would receive a percentage of the take, and everyone needed money to live. Besides, John argued, only the fastest horse with the best saddle would win; there was a lot of logic in replacing saddles after a racing season.

John’s father lit his pipe and thought very carefully about the discussion that his all- too-eager son was laying out for him. He didn’t want to upset his son, but something didn’t seem right about the situation. He thought that the man was a scammer who was only interested in profit.

It was all too obvious that it would take some explanation to settle his son down. John, by now, was on his feet with all too creative ideas on winning races with better saddles. Master Haughton’s saddles were indeed what the paying customer wanted, but they weren’t racing saddles, or so John was thinking.

Yearly replacement saddles could easily be paid for by the sponsors of the horse. If the horse didn’t win one race, it would certainly win in another. If any hose was injured, the saddle would fit another. The investment in the newer saddles would pay for itself in no time.

John, I need to tell you something, His father said calmly when the time was right. He inhaled and said, That man you are talking about is not what he seems. Master Haughton is right to think that something isn’t right, and get a few more years on you, and you will see it too. He’s a friend of Britt’s and Britt told me a few things about him. He came by today, by the way.

He’s not what he seems? How do you mean that, father? John asked.

"He isn’t what he makes himself out to be. He’s been arrested for withholding winnings from winning bettors and he’s conducted his own private races on days when the horses don’t normally race. He was only at Master Haughton’s shop to promote his own private horseracing venture.

Father, that isn’t right! John cried.

I know that, son, but the world is full of evil people who only care about their own gain. Any money from investors or sponsorships of horses will mostly find their way into his pockets.

Are you sure about this, father? John asked, Are you sure that Britt isn’t making this up?

John, Britt has a great many issues, but he wouldn’t make something like this up, his father said with certainty, I discovered all of this when Britt had come by for work, as you had asked him to do. While the visitor’s concept seems honest, he isn’t at all. He only cares about money, John, not the people he hurts in the process of getting it.

Why is Britt friends with a guy like that? John asked.

Well, he said he’s distanced himself from him because he thinks that one of these days, he’ll get in serious trouble. You and I both know that Britt is not trouble. John’s father said.

I’m just glad he came by, John said.

Yes, Britt indeed reported for work here as you requested. He has given up his heavy ale drinking, which pleases me. There’s a good chance that he could be hired on full time. He put in some fence posts today. Did you see them? The new, heavy fence posts at the back of the pasture have been positioned perfectly. Also, the weather-beaten shingling on the barn’s roof has been replaced and several wagon wheels have been restored.

That’s a lot of work to be done in just one day! John declared.

I know, but he did it all, his father said.

Still, John reasoned to himself, Britt had said nothing to him about a convict at the magistrates’ jail and Master Haughton had been skeptical from the onset of the visitors’ intentions. Could they all be wrong, the concept itself sounded iron clad; all of the investors would share in the profits? It was just a matter of time before their investment would pay for itself.

Chapter 5

An Old Nag Renewed

The days turned into weeks and the weeks became several months. Work at the leather shop kept at an above average pace. The saddles had long ago been completed and sold. The harness and oxen yoke demand picked up to the point that more attention was given to that product line than the saddles.

One day while Master Haughton was away, a visitor came calling; John didn’t quite recognize his face, but he knew his voice. The visitor was William Farley, the racing stable employee turned supposed businessman that had come calling several months before. He was looking to talk business with Master Haughton.

Aye lad… you there! he called as he gestured toward John.

May ah be of service, sir? John responded, as he approached the door. He treated the man with about as much respect as he could muster up, given what his father and Britt had said about the man. He didn’t want the man knowing that he knew he wasn’t honest in the way he did business.

Ol` man Master Haughton in?

Cain`t say he is…but Mrs. Haughton might be in tha loft sewing, John replied.

Well bligh me if she is er` ain`t…none of my concern. But lad, them saddles that come outta here is making a lotta blokes at tha track win. Havin` a horse ta put ‘em on helps though, he responded rather sarcastically.

Is that right, sir?

Indeed it is. Thing is, they all say about the same thing. They claim it needs ta ride lower and more forward, but they like it. I thought maybe ah could talk to Master Haughton about makin` some changes, but since he is gone, I can come back some other time, Mr. Farley said. As he was turning to leave, John asked, Why do they want it more forward?

They say it will give them more speed and control, Mr. Farley informed him, turning around to face him.

Well, didn’t they have control with the only saddles? John asked.

Sure, but this gives them more, Mr. Farley said.

Why change something you know works just fine? John wondered aloud.

Because, lad, money talks and we have to make some. A business without money ain’t a business, Mr. Farley said, Aye, lad… see if Master Haughton will make a few or so the way we talked about. I would say he would because he needs money and saddles make money. This is a special situation, though. I don’t pay, or won’t…unless the saddle is on tha back of a winnin` horse.

I certainly will tell him as much sir, uh… Mr. Farley. John replied. He walked him to the door and watched as he strolled down the dusty road and disappeared into the horizon.

Continuing with the oxen yokes, he thought of the new design that Mr. Farley had talked of, a low and forward-riding saddle. But he wouldn’t pay; the only way that he would pay was if the saddle was on the back of a winning horse, and John didn’t think Master Haughton would like that.

Master Haughton arrived back in due time and John informed him of Mr. Farley’s visit, and the new saddle idea.

Lad, Master Haughton stated with a sigh, If you want to make a saddle of that nature, then you do it…but ah want no part of it. Besides, Mr. Lockridge, our business is outgrowing us. I’ve been thinkin’ about puttin’ on another apprentice boy and ah got a lad in mind. Charles Tomley….the candle maker’s son.

Ah might have heard the name, Master Haughton. Big family, them Tomleys, John said.

So much the better, Master Haughton replied, That’s where I’ve been. You see, you’re a good lad, but ah`m not getting` any younger either.

What would he do, Master Haughton? John asked, completely surprised by the proposition.

Oxen yokes an` harnesses, came the fast response. Master Haughton rubbed his gray beard and then scratched the back of his head. Frowning thoughtfully, he said, So yes, lad, if you think you can make that saddle, well, then, you go right ahead.

John beamed with delight as he could see that his saddle making mentor finally approved of his idea. Perhaps Mr. Farley’s visit had changed his mind, or perhaps the old man was getting more generous.

With Master Haughton’s blessing, John began to earnestly work on a new racing saddle using his memory alone. Mrs. Haughton was impressed with the young man’s enthusiasm and creativity and sewed stitches into the leather as she sat in wonder and admiration of his abilities. In turn, John cleaned up her sewing room in the loft on his own time. But usually, work came first and John could only work on the saddle when he had ample time or when Master Haughton was away on business for the day.

Aye laddie, she mused one day without warning, This will be my last saddle. My old fingers just can’t take it anymore and I`m getting up there in years. I thought perhaps ah could show you how to do the sewing, or maybe you have a beau in mind that might learn.

Ah have no beau, ma`am! Now what will I do? he replied with complete astonishment, Aint much looking either!

All the better, then. You can learn to do the sewing. It’s just one less thing you’ll have to hire someone to do, so you’ll make more money, she replied, with a wispy smile and an approving hand gesture. John could not have been more pleased. His apprenticeship had not originally included leather sewing, but the blunt work of tanning and pattern making and endless hours of cutting and re-cutting to get a perfect match became redundant and exhausting; none the less, John enjoyed the challenges of his job. He took pride in the fact that Master Haughton trusted him to make a new saddle. Mr. Farley purchased the first one John offered for sale.

His father and the hired hand, Britt, arrived at the dirt track to watch as Mr. Farley buckled John’s new saddle about the belly of a normally so-called ‘losing dirt horse racer.’ John wanted to go give him luck, but his father stopped him.

Leave him alone, my son, John’s father admonished, Let him do his work.

John leaned against an old fence post and was beside himself with an urge to approach and see his saddle being mounted on a real horse first hand.

He’s right, ya know, Britt echoed, It’s bad luck, so just stay here with us and let that old nag run with that new saddle. If she runs fast, it’ll make you look good. Farley’s a good race track bloke. You can’t do much better than him, and folks know that.

John was disappointed that he couldn’t approach the horse and jockey. After all those hours of burnishing the straps and polishing the buckles, he wanted the honor of mating his prized saddle to a horse; even an old nag would be better than nothing.

Mr. Farley moved the horse about with a pull of the reins, and the gesture helped