Disclaimer: See Chapter 1
The Misplaced Potter
Chapter 4
In which we meet Henry John Porter
Early on an August morning, a father and son were leaning against a white rail fence watching horses in a meadow. Several colts pranced about in the dew-laden grasses of the pasture. Robert Porter, a beefy bald fifty-five year old man, had been a trainer of horses for his entire life, as had his father and grandfather before him. He was now passing on that knowledge of horses to his own son, Henry John Porter. Young Henry soaked up the lessons readily but what set him apart from the hundreds of other kids growing up on horse farms around Kentucky and Indiana was a seeming second sight when it came to realizing the potential that a foal had within it. Since he was six, he had spotted three stakes winners that no one else had given a second glance. Mr. Porter was an excellent trainer and a competent manager but it was Henry's gift that allowed Franklin Stables to acquire its fine reputation.
Mr. Porter sighed in disappointment. He was singularly unimpressed with the colts even if several had solid lineages.
"What do you think of them, Henry?" he asked his son.
Henry readjusted the blue and white Indianapolis Colts ball cap on his head. He was a short stocky boy who had turned eleven only on the previous day. Intelligent green eyes looked over the pasture through a pair of glasses.
"Dog food," he said. Henry's voice carried the soft, musical overtones of Kentucky although he had been born in England. Understandable since the Porters had moved to the United States when Henry was less then two years old. Mr. and Mrs. Porter retained their English accents, southern in the case of Henry's mom and midlands for Mr. Porter but Henry naturally spoke like the kids with whom he went to school.
"Well, maybe that's not entirely fair," Henry said after a moment. "That gray filly might be worth investing in as a brood mare if the price was cheap enough."
"Yes, I agree with you, son," Richard Porter said. "I hate to say so but Breakheart Stables has gone to the dogs since Old Man Matthews passed away."
"Mr. Jamison thinks highly of that chestnut," Henry stated.
"Yes, he does," answered Mr. Porter dryly.
Henry said nothing more about the matter. He knew how his dad felt about Mr. Jamison and he knew that Mr. Jamison loathed the Englishman who was both trainer and manager of Franklin Stables.
Eli Jamison was Mr. Franklin's son-in-law. He was an arrogant man whose confidence in his opinions about horses vied with his lack of knowledge of horseflesh. The dislike Eli Jamison felt for only increased after he had purchased a stallion against the advice of Robert Porter. The stallion proved to be a very expensive bust.
Mrs. Tamara Jamison was even worse in Mr. Porter's mind because she saw the stable only in terms of the status that it brought her in society. She cared nothing for horses or horseracing. They were simply a means of getting her photograph in the newspapers and getting invitations to galas or memberships on various boards.
The Jamisons were a nuisance at the moment but Mr. Porter could work around them and keep Franklin Stables in top-notch condition. The troublesome thing to Mr. Porter was that Mr. Franklin, a man he genuinely liked and respected, was rapidly declining in health. He had not been a young man when he had hired Mr. Porter and the intervening years had not been kind to him. Mr. Porter knew that it would not be too long before he was searching for a new position.
Porter, pere et fils, turned from the colts. They slowly made their way down the gravel road to where they had left their truck. It was a sunny day. A light breeze was blowing pushing clouds across the early morning sky but it carried with it the notice that it was going to be a hot day.
They had ridden in silence for several miles as the Kentucky countryside passed by their windows. The only sound other then the wind and an occasional passing car was the oldies rock and roll that poured from the radio. The Everly Brothers were singing Bye Bye Love when Mr. Porter turned to his son.
"Henry, what would you think about moving back to England?" he asked.
"I go where you and mom go," Henry answered simply.
"I realize that, son," said Mr. Porter. "But what I'm asking is how you would feel about such a move."
Henry turned his eyes from the roadside and looked at his father with a ghost of a smile. "I like it here in Kentucky but if we move back to England that would be okay. We're Englishmen, aren't we, even if I don't talk like one. I sorta figured that one of the reasons that we visit England two or three times a year was your and mom's way of reminding me of that."
Mr. Porter laughed heartily. "I don't know why I don't just tell you my motives. You always decipher my intent anyway. You're a good boy, Henry, and I know I don't tell you often enough but I love you."
"I love you too, Dad,"
The rest of the journey to the Porters' house passed in warm, companionable silence. Henry and his father were both the type of people that could spend the entire day together and think that the two dozen words that they spoke to each other was plenty of conversation.
Mrs. Danielle Porter stepped out into the sunlight when she heard the truck come rattling up the drive. She had hoped that Robert had broached the subject of returning to England with Henry. She was afraid that Henry's attachment to America might be too strong to make such a move anything but easy for him.
Henry had come so late into her life. She was already forty-one years old when she and Robert adopted the baby boy abandoned on her parents' doorstep thanks her Uncle Simon's legal shenanigans. After all, of her heartache, she finally had a child in her life.
With the child came the worries. She worried about being too indulgent or too strict with Henry John. When it came time to tell him that he was adopted, she had worried about his reaction. She worried about him being around such huge animals everyday. Nevertheless, all of the worries were overshadowed by the enormous love that Henry had brought into her life.
A large black dog came ambling around the corner of the house. He sat down beside Mrs. Porter and watched the truck skid to a stop.
"You're still here I see," she said as she scratched behind one of his ears. The dog wagged his tail twice but gave no other indication that he had heard her.
"Where did the dog come from?" Mr. Porter asked as he stepped out of the truck.
"I don't know. He appeared out of nowhere about two hours ago," answered Mrs. Porter. "He has no collar but he's well fed and very friendly."
Henry squatted down before the dog.
"How ya doin', boy?" he asked as he patted him.
The dog abruptly raised his snort knocking Henry's cap off his head.
"Hey, easy there, boy," Henry laughed pushing his hair from his eyes.
The dog stared intently into Henry's face. Suddenly the dog began to prance around Henry barking in an almost joyous manner. Henry stood and watched the dog kick up the dust in the drive. The dog put his front paws on Henry and licked his face from chin to forehead.
"Goodness! What on Earth has gotten into him?" Mrs. Porter asked.
Mr. Porter kissed his wife on the cheek. "I don't know but he likes Henry."
The dog unexpectedly gave out a long howl and then ran into the trees behind the Porters' house. He was quickly out of view.
"That was weird," said Henry wiping the dog slobber from his face.