“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir.” Briggs stood at the office door. “But Wilford is on line one.”
“Wilford?” He was Briley’s groom. John closed the purple “box” he’d been staring at for the last ten minutes and reached for the landline. “Is everything all right?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I should’ve called sooner but I wanted to be sure. He’s—”
“Wilford, say no more. I’m on my way. Don’t do a thing until I arrive.” Wilford tried to respond but John had already replaced the receiver. “Cancel my appointments,” he said to Briggs on his way out. “I’m going to Hadsby.”
Briley. John’s last connection to Holland other than her parents. Now it seemed he was about to meet his demise as well. His broken leg just wouldn’t mend.
John headed straight for the garage. Maneuvering Port Fressa traffic, he finally hit North One at top speed. He’d arrive at Hadsby Castle in the Old Hamlet section of Dalholm in less than three hours.
Hang on, Briley. Hang on.
After Holland died, he’d stabled Briley at the castle mews and hired Wilford to mend his broken leg. But the struggle had been long.
“God, if You hear a fool’s prayer, please save him.”
The afternoon sun spilled down the face of the Highcrest Mountains and the sight gave him some hope. Driving straight to the mews, he hopped out almost before the motor stopped.
“Wilford?” John walked down the wide brick center aisle toward Briley’s stall. “Where is he? I must see him.”
But Briley’s place was vacant. John expected to see a weary groom beside a weak and sad gelding, and a sober veterinarian ready to pronounce death.
“Wilford, are you here, man?”
Emerging from the other side of the stable, he found the groom atop a spry Briley, who trotted with ease, tossing his head, happy to be free.
“Can you believe, Your Royal Highness? Healed. Raring to go.” In his excitement, Wilford’s Dalholm speech was even more pronounced.
“I can see. Wilford, what happened?” John pumped the air with his fist and whispered, “Thank You.”
“One day. Poof. Fine.” Wilford kicked Briley into a canter. “Not afraid.” Briley raised up and pawed the air and when he came back down, he galloped toward John, tossing his head.
John grabbed the bridle and patted the gelding’s muzzle. “You’re back, ole boy, you’re back.”
“Miracle, sir. Miracle.” Wilford’s weathered smile said there was more to the story. “A few days past, a new vet, eyes so blue—”
“Tell me in the Queen’s language not in Dalholm shorthand.” The unique cadence of the Dalholmians was fun in the pub or at a dinner party but not when trying to understand a miracle.
“Sorry, sir. A few days ago a new vet came round. Strange chap with the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. They were like lasers. Dressed odd too. He wore—”
“A wool anorak and a wide-brimmed hat.”
“You’ve seen him too? Ernst down at the Belly of the Beast calls him Emmanuel. But I’ve never clapped eyes on the chap before. Anyway. He strolled into the stable and asked to see Briley. Didn’t see any reason not to let him. Not sure how he got on the grounds except maybe our regular vet sent him. Or you. Anyway, he spent about an hour with Briley and left. Didn’t say a word the entire time. The next day one of the groomers had Briley walking the aisle. Said he wanted out. Then today, well, you see for yourself. But I say keep an eye on him. Don’t let him do too much. He may look healed, act healed, but—”
“Let him run, Wilford. Let him run. Let him do what he was born to do.”
When Wilford gave him the word, Briley sprinted away, racing free over the meadow, the tall grass almost parting, making a way.
John ran after them as horse and rider disappeared down a slope and onto the flat plain above the sea.
“Yeahhhh!” He jumped, waving his hands, shouting, “Run, Briley, run!”
In a season of surprises, scandals, goodbyes, and endings, Briley was mind-blowing surprise. An example of silver linings. A symbol of life after death.
If an encounter with Emmanuel—God with us—restored a horse, think what it could do for a future king.
* * *
