Tonight I tried on the new clothes Mary bought me. I never had such nice things before. I can’t explain it, but I felt pretty and happy. I never thought about clothes making me feel different, but they do.
My mama never had anything nice. I guess I feel guilty that I have so much. I felt so light and happy when I had my new clothes on, like I could fly. So one minute I am so happy and another minute I am sad because my mama never had nothin’.
Often I go to bed at night thinking about Capp, not Mama. I wonder if he thinks about me. He called to me tonight after the meeting. I felt my heart pounding. I almost giggled. I felt a tug so strong. I could have run to his arms. I could have flown. I could have kissed him. This liking or loving someone sure has a lot of feelings.
Bonne nuit, mon ami,
Maizie Sunday Freedman
Chapter 27
Over Coffee
Matilda Coombs had not been sleeping well. The weather, hot and muggy, had something to do with it. She was restless and dreaming of a new life. There had to be more. Since she was a little girl she had dreamed of having a ranch, a successful ranch with a long list of proven Derby winners. She had seen families in Louisville gain that kind of success and she thought she could do it, improve upon what her father had achieved. There was hope for a future in horse breeding and racing for Matilda Coombs. A path to a rich and respectable life was possible, but the Depression was making it rough. She climbed out of bed and put on her riding clothes. She went to the mirror and took a brush to her hair, sparing herself makeup. It was a Saturday and she’d be on her horse soon. She enjoyed riding. It helped her think. She opened her bedroom door and headed to the kitchen, where her father sat having a cup of coffee. When she entered the room, he looked up slowly, his face sad and drawn. He looked old to her, old and spent, like an old beaten nag in the field.
“Good morning, Matilda. Please join me,” he said as he set down his coffee cup.
“Just need a cup of coffee before my ride.” Matilda walked to the stove, lifted the coffeepot and poured herself a cup of brew.
“Please. Only a minute. I’ve been meaning to talk with you for a while now, but there was never a good time,” said George Coombs.
“Yes, Daddy?”
“Your mother and I have been thinking about our future, your future.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve been talking with a lawyer. We’ve written a will whereby you and your brothers will share in the value of all our assets. We hope, should anything happen to us, you’ll be secure.”
“Share? You mean the ranch?” Her voice pitched with panic. “Daddy, I want the ranch, just me. You know that, Daddy. It’s what I‘ve wanted my whole life. My brothers have moved on. They don’t want the ranch.”
“Farm, sweetheart. We call it a farm. And I fear we may lose it. We have leveraged some of its value already. My job at Churchill Downs has been a life saver, but we can’t stay afloat much longer than a few years. We lost a lot in the crash. This depression offers no chance for recovery. Why, no day goes by when I don’t talk with someone who has lost everything. These are dismal times.”
Matilda was stunned. She thought the farm should be hers. Her father couldn’t lose it, not now. Surely there had to be a way.
“We are going to try to sell. We will set ourselves up in a little place in town and divide the remainder between you and your brothers. We should be able to get enough for you to have a dowry for marriage.”
“Sell? For a dowry? Daddy, no. Please. I have to have the farm. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. The farm can be my dowry. I’ve dreamt about it every night since I could saddle a horse. I love this place, the horses. I’ve worked hard to learn it all. You know that. You’ve always said that I’m a natural. Better than any man you’ve known. You’ve said that.”
“I’m sorry, Matilda. We have to sell.”
“What if I married a rich man? It could happen. You and mother can stay here. I’ll take care of you. You won’t worry about anything. I can have my dream.”
“I hardly think we can sit around waiting for a rich suitor to support us all. I just don’t’ think…”
“Daddy, Martin and I have been talking. He’s rich. Why, his daddy leases a barn at Churchill Downs and owns a huge horse ranch. He could help us keep our ranch.”
“Farm, Matilda. Please call it what it is, a farm. Are you talking about Martin Garner? His dad is rich, not him. You seeing him?”
“Oh yes, I’ve seen him. He likes me.”
“Do you like him?”
“Well, I could. Just need to spend some more time with him. I could make him get money from his daddy.”
“I like the Garners, but you’ll do no such thing. Have some pride.”
“Martin has good sense. Why, we have such nice times together. Daddy, he and I could work this farm, raise good thoroughbreds.”
“I’m sorry, Matilda. I think you better quit counting on inheriting our farm.”
“I know another horse rancher. It’s a long shot, but he’s my friend. He’s from Missouri. Handsome too. He has rich contacts. Why, I know he’d jump at the chance to help out here in Kentucky.” Matilda waited for her father’s response.
George Coombs cleared his throat, removed a flask from his rear pocket and poured some bourbon into his coffee cup. Matilda could see his hand trembling. Sympathy briefly washed over her. He put the flask back in his pocket and didn’t say another word, only gazed blankly at the wall. She knew her father didn’t understand how determined she was to have her horse farm one day. She’d do just about anything to get it, even marry awful Martin Garner or get in touch with the cowboy from Glidewell Ranch. What was his name? Capp, Cowboy Capp.
Chapter 28
Making Ready
The next week at the backside, Wil and crew were busy hammering out the details for the match races. The quarter horses chosen to run races were in training. The handlers were working on the horses’ endurance and quick starts. Wil was careful not to overwork these hardworking sprinters, because a lame, brilliant contender would do him no good.
Wil had some good riders already picked to run the horses on the track and compete in the time trials to determine who would race. Since the horses were wearing heavy western saddles, he looked for the lightest men he could find. Ernesto and Alvaro were light in weight and great horsemen. Tommy O’Rourke was taken from his stable-hand work to begin jockey training. The young Irishman was a quick learner and Capp felt he could handle a sprint race well. Chief Jack said he would race but wouldn’t be wantin’ any fancy saddle; a blanket suited him just fine. He found saddles confining, unnecessary, and a bother. Being a full-blooded Osage Indian, Chief Jack found riding a horse as natural as walking; no special equipment needed.
Capp would be riding Running Wild. Wil felt that Running Wild, given the horse’s winning spirit and great endurance, would pull off a win despite Capp’s size. The four top Glidewell horses and riders would compete with the rest of the field on Saturday.
A few days later, prior to the match races, Sugar Jackson arrived on the train from Kentucky. She was a charming, wiry, strong woman full of goodwill and determination. She had a smile that could light up a room and the hug of a bear. She loved people and it showed in everything she did. Sugar wore her hair wrapped in a white piece of cloth which gave her a distinguished and proud appearance. The head cloth wasn’t the triangle of the enslaved but a turban-like wrap of the queens of Africa.
Leon picked up Sugar in the Glidewells’ Packard coupe at the Springfield train station. When they arrived back at the ranch, Leon drove her to the backside cottage where she and her staff of three other women would be living. After Sugar had put her few things away in the drawers, Leon then drove her to the ranch house for a meeting with Mary.
“Sugar, I’m so happy to meet you. I feel like I know you. Wil speaks so highly of you,” Mary said and
led Sugar to her office.
“I do appreciate Wil talking good of me. This job was an answer to my prayers. Figure God’s been listenin’.”
“This is Maizie, my office assistant.”
Maizie stood and smiled. “Sugar, welcome, Capp told me about you.”
Sugar laughed. “Why, that little darlin’ child was a handful, but I could make him laugh and smile. He was a sourpuss when his mama left. Barely four years old. Why I’ve missed my Wembley boys every day. Been prayin’ to get together with them again. They’s been behavin’? ’Cause if they ain’t, Sugar here will get after them.”
Mary thought about tattling on Capp and all the trouble he’d gotten into recently but refrained. “Your Wembleys behave most of the time. Every day my husband and I are thankful they are here.”
“Oh they’s good boys for sure, Wil and Capp. Never give me a lick of trouble… much.” Sugar looked serious for one minute and then she broke into a big smile, her face, full of joy. Mary was happy she’d had a hand in reuniting the Wembleys and Sugar at the Glidewell Ranch.
“Did you see your cottage?”
“I sho’ did. Just fine for me. Seems I’ll be real busy this summer, but I sho’ do like havin’ my own bed and don’t mind the company of others.”
“Well, let’s walk back down there. I’ll show you around, introduce you, talk about your responsibilities.”
“A walk would be just what I need. Been sittin’ since I left Kentucky. I want to see those horses for sure.”
“Let’s go then.” Mary ran to her bedroom and slipped on her boots.
Entering the backside mess hall, they found Thelma in the kitchen making big pans of chicken, vegetables, and biscuits topped with gravy. Thelma looked up from her work and appeared shocked to see Sugar standing between Maizie and Mary.
“This is Sugar Jackson, Thelma. She and her crew will be handling all the housekeeping.” Sugar reached to shake Thelma’s hand, but Thelma just shook her head and held up her dough covered palm as if to apologize that she couldn’t return the gesture.
“She Maizie’s momma?” Thelma said, looking sideways at Mary.
“No Thelma, she isn’t.”
“Well, she could be, couldn’t she?”
“Sugar is like family to the Wembleys.”
“Sure don’t look like family, if you ask me.”
“Thelma, may I remind you that we expect our employees to be respectful to all,” Mary asserted. Thelma remained quiet but angrily rolled out her biscuit dough. The end of Thelma’s nose was covered with flour, and Mary found it difficult not to laugh. Mary turned to leave before she let out a giggle, when Thelma asked, “Why, Miss Maizie, is that a new dress? Bet that cost a good bit of money. Or did you steal it?”
Mary turned back around sharply, her urge to laugh having been completely dampened by Thelma’s hostile remarks. “Thelma, you will report to my office tomorrow morning immediately following your breakfast service.”
Sugar looked at Thelma, smiled, and then calmly remarked, “Seems someone with a mouth like yours should spend more time smilin’ and less time talkin’.” Thelma stared at Sugar and tapped her rolling pin on the edge of the counter.
This could be trouble, Mary thought. “We have to get going. Maizie, Sugar, come with me. Thelma, I’ll see you tomorrow.” The three women walked out of the mess hall on their way back up the hill to the ranch house. “I’m sorry, Sugar. I forgot about showing you the horses.”
“I can do that,” said Maizie.
“That would be nice of you, Maizie,” Mary said and then added, “Sugar, don’t take Thelma’s remarks personally. She is a difficult and sometimes a mean-spirited person.”
“I sho’ know about those. Been around ’em all my life.”
Looking at Sugar with kindness, Mary said, “You two take your time. Meet some of the others. Most folks here aren’t like Thelma.”
Chapter 29
Getting to the Point
Mary, looking out her office window, could see Thelma huffing and puffing as she climbed the incline to the ranch house; Maizie was jogging down gracefully. When the two met, Maizie waved hello; Thelma ignored her. Mary felt a twinge of hurt for Maizie. How could Thelma behave like that to a child?
Moments later, Leon knocked on Mary’s office door, opened it and gestured for Thelma to enter. She looked tired and a bit sweaty from her jaunt up the hill.
“Good morning, Thelma. Thank you for coming. Please sit down.” The mess hall cook took her seat in the armchair provided. Luckily the chair was just wide enough to accommodate her more than ample posterior. “Thelma, let’s get to the point,” Mary suggested.
“How long? I have a meal to serve at one o’clock, you know. Backside runs on schedule.”
“I am sure that’s true. Now I want to talk about the manner in which you spoke not only to Sugar and Maizie yesterday but also to me.”
Thelma would have squirmed in her seat if she had the room, but there was none, so she sat stiffly and waited.
“Your remarks yesterday were shocking to me. Do you know you sound very judgmental when you speak?”
“Just tellin’ things like they are. Seems this ranch has a hankerin’ to employ colored folks who everyone knows ain’t worth a lick. Makes us white folks uncomfortable and then we have to work harder. Do their work too.”
Mary picked up the “New Rules” form. “You signed this form, which meant you understood that all backside employees are to treat each other with respect and understanding despite their heritage, race, or religion. Are you saying you didn’t understand what you were signing?”
“No, I’m sayin’ that ain’t right. I have a right to feel like I do. It is how white folks should feel. Them blackies is not as good as us and should be treated as such.”
“You mean people with different-colored skin are inferior?”
“That’s right. Not smart at all. And there ain’t no one who grew up around here who don’t know it. Besides I don’t see anything wrong with askin’ if Sugar is Maizie’s mama.”
“It was the way you said it.”
“Don’t see nothin’ wrong.”
“When you said that Maizie may have stolen her new dress, you were implying that was the only way she could have gotten such a dress.”
“Well, how did she get it?” asked Thelma. Just then Maizie walked in the door. Mary took on an officious tone. “Here is a contract I need typed, Maizie. All these new invoices need to be recorded in your ledger. Check to make sure the budget is balanced. Then when you are through with that, we will need to look into placing all those orders you are researching.”
“Yes, Mrs. Glidewell.” Maizie took the contract, placed it on her desk, sat down, took two sheets of typing paper and a carbon, and rolled them into the drum of the Underwood typewriter. She started to type the document without a hitch, not looking at the keys.
“Maizie is a skilled office assistant. She is quite an asset to me,” Mary said. “Thelma, we aren’t kidding. There will be no more bigoted remarks to anyone here at the ranch. If I hear from others that you are continuing to do this, you will be dismissed.”
Thelma was just about to offer a comment when Mary said, “Thelma, I insist you join us all for lunch. I want you to get to know our ranch-house staff.”
Leon arrived and said softly, “If it pleases, lunch is ready.”
“Is Mr. Glidewell back?”
“He is, madame.”
“Perfect timing, Leon, Thelma and I were just finishing up. Maizie, put down your work for now and we will go eat.” Maizie pulled the papers and carbon out and said, “This is done, Mrs. Glidewell,” and handed Mary a neatly typed contract for Thelma to sign.
“Thelma read this over and sign it. I’ll have Maizie witness it.” Thelma hesitated and admitted, “I can’t read. The words, they’s too big.”
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“Oh. Here Maizie, please read this for Thelma.” Maizie took the letter and read it out loud, clearly and slowly.
“Thank you, Maizie. You see, Thelma, Maizie is quite an asset.”
Thelma sighed. “Give me that pen.”
When the behavioral contract was signed and witnessed, the three followed Leon into the employees’ dining hall. It was a pleasant room with a view of the plain and lots of sunshine. Seated and waiting were Ol’ Jon, Sugar, Ruby, and Claire.
“I really must be gettin’ back.”
“I want you to stay, Thelma. Really I do,” said Mary.
Leon directed Thelma to sit between the Creole, Ol’ Jon, and Sugar Jackson. Mary asked Maizie to sit next to Sugar, while she and James sat at the ends of the table. Philippe took a seat between Ruby and Claire, and Leon began his elegant table service. His waiter routines were the same for all the guests, whether they be a housekeeper, a Creole gardener, a French chef, the owner of Glidewell Ranch, or a visibly disgruntled mess-hall cook. The food was wonderful: sprouts from Ol’ Jon’s garden and roasted chicken. It was tender and succulent; chicken cooked in the French style, with butter pushed under the skin and baked quickly on high heat. Thelma said nothing. At times she would look to her right and left and see Sugar and Ol’ Jon sitting at the table on either side of her. Visibly uncomfortable, she sat stiffly in her dining chair engaging with no one.
The conversation at the table was rich with laughter. People told stories about life on the ranch at no one’s expense but in good fun. When the dessert service began, Thelma had yet to say one word.
“We’re having match races soon. We got a chance to win it. Wil and I think Capp is the guy who can win it all. Running Wild is a strong, sure stallion. A little wild, yes, but Capp can handle him,” said James.
“I sho’ do like the sound of Glidewell winning,” Ol’ Jon said.
Through Tender Thorns Page 10
