My Irish Granny

"You want me to do what?" I stopped short. I was yelling at my frail little gray-haired granny with her coronet of braids and that lone little whisker hanging from her chin. I'd always wanted to just pull that strange black hair out and tried once as a child. She slapped my hand, and I never tried again. There she was, rocking slowly in that chair padded with what looked like dozens of quilts. It was a big chair and she would be lost in it otherwise. I softened my voice. "Granny, I don't understand why you would want me to do that."

"It doesn't matter why, child," she replied in her birdlike voice. "You know I've always been fey. Remember how I always know when someone's about to die or whether a baby will be a boy or girl? I have the sight. Always have had." She nodded solemnly throughout her discourse.

I tried to speak more calmly. "But, Granny, you always told me that gambling is a waste of God's money. You said extra money should be given to the poor."

"Tsk! It's just an old two dollar bill now. That's not going to give the poor much help. But if you do as I say, you'll be able to help a lot of poor people and yourself, too."

I drew a deep breath, fingering the edge of the two dollar bill tucked in the little black book. Granny had always been fond of the little books. She favored the ones with leather binding and carried the current one in her apron pocket every day. Someday we were going to have to read and distribute to family every one of those books. The ones I had seen were filled with recipes and home remedies, Bible verses and prayer lists. This one was very different. It was blank except for the first page, on which were numbers one to eight with the strange names by each number. Granny said they were the names of horses. I was to go to the Oaklawn track in Hot Springs on Sunday, March 14 (her birthday) and bet on each of these eight horses to win, starting with a two dollar bet with said two dollar bill. I was to bet the winnings of each race on the next horse, always to win, until the end of the day.

"Granny, that just doesn't sound very wise. I mean maybe it would be safer to bet win/place/show each time? How do you know every horse is going to win?"

Her eyes narrowed, she spoke very clearly with no hint of her occasional Irish brogue. "Brigid Aisling Kelly, do not question your elder!" She gathered her shawl about her and headed upstairs. "I am a bit tired now, girl. Don't come back until you've done as I said."

Sunday, March 14, Granny's 89th birthday, I was in the stands at Oaklawn when Pretty Grey Lady went off at 2/1 odds. She won easily, and I collected six dollars at the window and obediently bet it all to win on Daisy Arlene's Oreo, a black and white beauty. I didn't look at the odds. What did it matter? There was no decision making needed.

The guy behind the window counted out twenty-eight dollars and eighty cents that time, and I very promptly bet twenty-eight to win on Cindy's Biscuit Eater, going off at 1/1. Sounded like a sure thing, and it was. Fifty-six dollars back on that one.

Uh, oh! I began to sweat a bit. Katie Kelly's King was the next horse on the list. Going off at 60/1. I was mumbling to myself as I walked up to the window, "Stupid, stupid, stupid." But I bet it all on King. I didn't even watch the race because I didn't want to see the horse lose. Suddenly the stands erupted with cheers and screams and people cursing. Tickets flew everywhere. I watched in disbelief as the horse was declared the winner. I wasn't sure I was reading the tote board right. Was that really three thousand dollars?

Yep, it was. $3,416 payout. "Want some large bills?" the cashier asked. He had smiled the first time I made my two dollar bet, so I kept going back to the same one. He was middle-aged with a comb-over and wore his glasses down on his nose, looking over them like Mother Superior used to when I was in Catholic school.

"Uh, sure," I mumbled, watching in disbelief as he counted out thirty-four hundred dollar bills. But now what was I to do? There were four more races. This was a lot of money. Maybe I should hold a little back. Suddenly my heart thumped and I shivered, like when someone walks over your grave, and I could hear Granny whisper, "Do what I said now, Brigid."

So I did. I bet it all on Bessamaye Blackie, odds 1/1. A crowd was beginning to gather as the teller added sixty-eight hundred dollar bills to my collection. Plus thirty-two dollars.

A red-faced burly guy who smelled of beer grabbed my arm as I was shoving the money back across to bet on the next race. "Hey, missy! How you doin' this? These races fixed? Let some of us in on the action." More people crowded around. My panic-stricken look inspired the teller to call security. Two big men dressed all in black cleared the mob and escorted me to a more private area. They had some questions, too, but all I could tell them was that I was doing what Granny told me. They had good Irish names so maybe they believed the stuff about fey and second sight.

Next horse was Ginger Kate Red at 9/5. I bet it all, and collected $19,129.60 when she won. I should have been feeling pretty confident that Granny knew her stuff by now. Could I lie well enough to get by with just leaving and telling her that's all there was?

Nope. She could see right through me, even without the fey gift. So I bet it, minus the sixty cents. Joe's Big Boy was 3/1 odds, so a relatively safe bet. I hoped. Yeah, safe enough to pay $53,561.20. Security was sticking close. They even started betting the same way I did. Granny had been on the money, literally, up until now. But fifty big ones was a lot to bet on the next horse going off. Brooklyn Babe was going off at 40/1.

My armpits were dripping but my mouth was dry as cotton, and my heart was pounding out of my chest. The teller's eyebrows were up under his when I shoved the wad of bills at him. "All of it?" he asked.

I nodded grimly. "Brooklyn Babe, to win." I swallowed hard as he re-counted the bills, punched it in and handed me the ticket. Security flanked me as I went outside to watch this one, holding on to the scrap of paper for dear life.

"And they're off," the announcer shouted. Words to cheer you or strike fear in your heart. Mark me as the latter option. The filly stumbled out of the gate and trailed about halfway around. The blood drained from my head and my legs felt like Jello. I leaned on the metal rail to keep from falling.

But suddenly Babe's toothpick legs got their stride and began steadily gaining ground. Could she do it? Surely not. I swear I held my breath the entire last quarter mile of the race, letting it out in a loud "woo-hoo" as she crossed the finish line five lengths ahead of the favorite. I leaned over the fence, laughing and crying at the same time. Strangers were patting me on the back while security tried to keep them back. Even security was patting me on the back.

Now for the moment of truth. How much did I win? Could I make myself make one last bet? There were some men in suits approaching. One looked like a bookkeeper, balding and wire-rimmed glasses. The other looked like a WWE wrestler without the tights and big belt. Both congratulated me on my win as they walked me back to the window, assuring me that they would be sure I got safely home with it.

"How much?" I asked.

"Two million, one hundred ninety-six thousand and one dollar." My knees buckled and someone slid a chair underneath my behind. I took several deep breaths.

"We will be providing you with a cashier's check for your winnings and have a limo waiting to take you home," said the bookkeeper.

"But, I'm supposed to bet again," I protested. Stunned silence surrounded me.

"Who are you supposed to bet on?" growled the WWE type.

"Yeah, which horse?" red-faced guy who liked beer demanded.

I pulled out the book. "Outfront Lady Belle."

There was a collective breath of relief from the track officials. "Missy, I'm happy to tell you that that particular horse has been scratched from the eighth race." He directed my vision to the tote board, which confirmed the fact.

I felt immediately better, knowing I didn't have to risk all that money one more time. They loaded me into the limo, cashier's check in hand, and sent me on my way back to my very fey, Irish, second-sighted Granny, who was gonna help a lot of poor people!

And, just maybe, she'd let me spend a little on myself.

Happy Birthday, Granny!