“Chief, glad I found you,” James said after spending a good deal of time on the hunt for his stable hand.
“That so?”
“I need to talk with you.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
“Yep, Capp told me. Told me what the boys were saying.”
“He did? What did he say?”
“He said I can’t race. The boys don’t like it. That’s why I’m here with Paint.”
“And?”
“I’m tellin’ Paint he’s gonna be a star. War Paint likes it. Capp says he needs me to put on a show during the parade. Do a few stunts. Make the crowd holler.”
“You all right with not running in the match races?”
“I’d like to race Morning Glory, but like Capp said, it ain’t fair to ride with no saddle. But I ain’t ridin’ with a saddle. Not natural. So Paint and I will show our stuff. That’s what we’ll do.”
James put his hand on the chief’s shoulder and gave it a good pat. “Thanks, Chief.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank Capp. He gave me five dollars for not hollerin’ about gettin’ scratched. Never turned down five dollars in my life.”
At mid-morning all the horses and riders made ready for the time trials that would determine their position in the draw or their elimination from representing Glidewell on Saturday.
A loud whistle from Wil caught their attention. It was time to move to the start. First man up was Capp, who mounted and rode slowly to the dreaded barrier. The starting barrier consisted of eight parallel ropes set two or three inches apart, looking similar to a fence. The ropes, attached to springs, went straight up over the horse and rider’s head when the start lever was pulled. Capp began to feel anticipatory angst as he waited.
“Capp, you ready?” said Wil.
“Yep, but not sure about Running Wild. Barrier makes him nervous.”
“Same for everybody, son.”
“But not everybody has a horse like Wild here.”
“You been practicin’. You’ll be fine.”
“Yeh, and this horse doesn’t like things flying up in front of him. He’s startin’ to balk. He got so bad yesterday, I had to run him to calm him down.”
With stopwatches in hand, James approached the father and son. “Ready? Here’s your watch, Wil.” Wil took the watch, stopping and starting it to test that it was working properly. “Hope that horse of yours is ready to run,” said James.
Capp adjusted his hat, held tight to the reins, and stood briefly in his stirrups. Wild suddenly backed up and then lifted his front legs off the ground, catching Capp off guard. “Easy boy,” he said softly. “Whoa, boy.”
“Looks like the horse is still upset. I’m depending on you to win this match-race weekend, but first you have to qualify, Capp.”
Capp looked at James, anger evident on his face. “I know. Believe me, I know. You want a win. You need a win.” He removed his hat and rubbed the top of his head, his curls seeming to frolic, enjoying a moment of freedom. “I wish you had consulted with me before you purchased this dang barrier.”
Capp slid off his saddle and pulled on the halter. But again the horse was spooked and snorted. “Easy boy. It’s all right. Easy.” Capp began stroking the stallion’s neck, and Wild, feeling soothed, settled into a calmer stance.
“Seems everyone uses barriers these days,” James said. “I bought the one most recommended.”
“Everyone that don’t know nothing about a spirited horse, I bet. The thing could get us disqualified.”
Wil, shaking his head at the pre-run banter stepped in and said, “Hey, you two. We got a time trial to run. Relax. Capp, you know what to do. Just ride that pony hard and smart.”
“Got it, Dad. All this talk has me nervous.”
Wil tapped Capp on his leg and smiled. “I have confidence in the two of you, Capp.”
James wished he felt the same. “Good luck,” he said, hoping to sound sincere.
Capp was uneasy. As he and Wild approached the barrier, Wild’s ears flicked back and forth. “Easy, fella.” He urged the horse up to the ropes. Wild balked. Capp tapped his flank. The horse lowered and shook his head. Capp patted him on the neck. The horse snorted, and Capp leaned over his saddle horn and talked into Wild’s right ear. “Good boy. That’s a good boy. Easy, big fella.”
Wild, without warning, reared high on his hind legs and threw Capp to the ground. Capp yelled expletives, stood, dusted off his pants and Stetson, and attempted to climb back into the saddle as Wild turned in a circle, making a mount difficult. Capp could hear James yelling from the finish line, “Dang it, Capp! Control that horse!” Capp ignored James’ less-than-helpful comment and got back to work. Finally in the saddle, he leaned over Wild’s neck and whispered in the horse’s ear.
“Easy boy. That’s it, easy boy.” Capp urged his horse to the starting barrier again. Then he sat up and nodded to the men working the start.
The flag was dropped, the lever pulled, and the ropes flew. It was a good start. Off went horse and rider. Capp could feel Running Wild working, gaining speed. When he crossed the finish line where Will and James stood with their stopwatches, he knew he’d had a good run. He could have run him harder, and would on Saturday, but Capp was sure he would qualify today. He turned his horse and returned to the finish line. Wil and James combined times on their watches and divided by two. Capp had run the four furlongs in a decent time: 48 seconds.
“Good run, Capp. Wild was fine.” James felt a sense of relief.
“Maybe. You see him throw me?”
“I did. You could have four starts this weekend. That a problem?”
“Wild hasn’t ever had four clean starts in a row. That answer your question?”
James reset his stopwatch. “Not the answer I wanted,” said James, as he motioned over the next qualifier.
Pleased with his time, Capp galloped back to the starting barrier to watch the rest of the field run their trials.
Chapter 41
The Contentious Competitor
August 7, 1931
James was up at 5:00 a.m. having had a restless night’s sleep, running all the details through his head over and over again. As he lay awake, he imagined his horses winning all of their match races. He could see his quarter horses, hear them, feel them pounding toward the four-furlong finish. Then he would breathe deeply, trying to calm his excitement.
After dressing and a quick breakfast, James arrived at the backside, pleased to see that two unfamiliar horse trailers had already arrived. Capp’s job was to check in the participating horses and riders in the parking area. The small barn, as well as an enclosed pasture cleared of Glidewell stock, was made available to all challenger horses. Competitors were settling in. Maizie, with a clipboard, was walking around collecting ten-dollar entry fees from all the participants. Sugar, in a blue floral-print headwrap, was greeting everyone and suggesting they head to the mess hall for complimentary coffee and rolls. The scene warmed James. All was in working order, at least for now.
At mid-morning a confident-looking cowboy climbed from his beat-up Ford pickup and horse trailer. He looked strong enough, fast enough, and brave enough to wrestle a mad steer. Maizie approached him and said, “Excuse me, sir. You here to race?”
“I’m here to race and win, sweetheart,” he said without looking at her.
“Did you check in with Capp?”
He turned and looked at Maizie. Tipping his head in Capp’s direction he said, “Checked in with that wrangler.”
“Good. I’m here to collect your entry fee.”
“No need. I already paid.”
“Who’d you pay?”
“The ol’ man at the gate.”
“He’s not collecting money.”
“Is that so? Think they’d do better havin’ a man collect. Look, sw
eetheart, I usually get in for free to these farm events. You want me here. I’m the best. Now get along.”
“So you didn’t pay Ol’ Jon?”
“That’s right, honey. As it should be. I’m a star.”
Maizie stepped back and allowed the cowboy to go. Then she turned and approached Capp, who was discussing practice times with another rider. “Excuse me, Capp, that man over there by the green horse trailer wouldn’t pay me.”
“Really?”
“Yes, he refused. He said he always gets in free. Don’t think he liked taking orders from me.”
“I’ll take care of it right now.” Capp didn’t waste any time and jogged over to where the man was finishing putting on his horse’s tack and saddle. “You owe us ten bucks or you ain’t working on our track.” The man turned to face Capp and a surly look came over his face. “I ain’t payin’. Seems you need me here. My horse is the only real horse I see. You should be payin’ me to run.”
“Ten dollars or you don’t ride; you don’t bed down; and you don’t eat. Plain and simple.”
“Seems a high price to pay for a nothin’ race.”
“If that’s how you feel, leave.”
“I already spent money getting’ here. Think I’d leave just because you’re tellin’ me?”
“Yep, that’s what I think or I’ll throw your ass out of here myself, if you don’t pay.” The man spit on the ground and then took another pinch of chewing tobacco from his tin. He hesitated while Capp stood his ground. Reaching into his pocket the stranger pulled out a ten-dollar bill and handed it to Capp.
“I’m gonna win this tournament, kid.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“I’m Miles Moser. You probably heard of me. Nobody can beat me.”
“I can beat you. I got me a quarter horse that keeps pounding until he crosses the finish… first,” said Capp.
“I doubt it. You look green. Bet your horse is too. Why, I don’t think you or this horse will make it past the first day.” He laughed.
“You are full of bull. Never heard a bigger braggart in my life,” said Capp.
“I ain’t bragging. I make a living doing match races with fools like you.”
“Never heard of no Miles Moser. Guess time will tell, and by the way, we don’t like you chewin’ and spittin’ in the public areas. Ain’t polite for our lady guests.”
“You kidding? You got my ten bucks and now you’re tellin’ me I can’t spit?”
“That’s right,” said Capp, walking back to Maizie. “Here’s his money.”
“Thanks, Capp. What’s his name?”
“Moser. Miles Moser. Thinks he’s a hotshot. Boy, I’d love a chance to take him on.”
After collecting money from all the participants, Maizie hurried back to the ranch house to get ready for dinner. It had already been a long day, made longer still by an evening meal yet to come, with all of Mary and James’s guests in attendance. Gideon Rust, an editor from the Springfield Leader, and Harry D. Durst, the mayor of Springfield, made up the dignitaries for the evening. The rest were old friends and business associates.
A quick look in the mirror gave Maizie confidence. She was wearing a cool, fitted dress with short cap sleeves, a large white collar, and large buttons up the front. The print was a summer dance of flowers, foliage, and birds. She felt pretty and aglow from her sun-kissed cheeks. She made her way into the kitchen.
As the Glidewell dinner guests gathered in the grand hall, Meadowlark sat down at the piano to run through a couple of old sets of musical numbers from yesteryear. People gathered around the piano, sipping on libations of their choosing.
While most were listening to the piano concert, Glidewell architect Theo Tillerman engaged a small group sitting in the cowhide chairs; he was animated as he told the story of Glidewell Ranch. He went to great effort to describe in detail the design and construction of the horse facility as well as the residence. He referenced Frank Lloyd Wright’s philosophy of designing structures to be built into the contours of the land as he talked about the racetrack and the man-made knoll that was used as a spectators viewing area. He talked about the rock quarry and the removal of limestone from the outcroppings. He described the beauty of the mock castle that one day seemed to magically appear on the horizon. “One stone cutter yelled, ‘Look that outcropping is the shape of an Irish castle,’” Tillerman said. “We were in awe. With its location so close to the artesian well, all the Irish workers said it must be a sacred spot. But the Osage Indians had said that long before.” He talked about the trees he planted for shade along the lanes on the property. He teared up a bit when he talked about the raising of the big barn and the original horses that quickly filled it. The Glidewell Ranch property had been part of his professional life for well over a decade. “James and Mary gave me artistic license to create a ranch of beauty. Most architects never get such an opportunity,” he said to a small crowd of patient listeners.
James and Mary moved around the room and suggested all in attendance come to the dining room for a French-country summer dinner. Once the guests were in their seats, Ruby and Maizie began to serve the first course, a classic vichyssoise, cold creamed potato and leek soup, followed by sausages and rustic cut vegetables stewed in wine. Maizie offered more water and bread, while Ruby began removing the plates.
When Maizie got to Capp, he looked up at her. “Sure like your boots, Maizie. Haven’t seen you wearin’ ’em before.”
“Mrs. Glidewell bought them for me. You nervous about the racing?”
“Just worried about the start. My horse doesn’t like that start barrier. Spooks him a bit.”
“Hope all goes well.”
“Mr. Glidewell wants us to win so bad. Makes me nervous.”
The dinner continued through its various courses of fresh green salad, cheese, and bread, followed by a chocolate mousse for dessert. When the final bite of mousse and sips of coffee or tea were finished, the guests joined in on a sing-along with Meadowlark at the piano.
Meadowlark, in his rhythmic style, began each song with a complicated introduction and then signaled to the crowd when to start singing. Sing they did, some arm in arm. Philippe, Leon, Maizie, Ruby, and Claire were invited in from the kitchen. Leon surprised everyone with a glass of brandy to insure a good night’s sleep. Some declined; most didn’t. Some of the songs included were “Home on the Range,” “Swanee,” “In the Jailhouse Now,” “Bye Bye Blackbird,” “Yes Sir, That’s My Baby,” and “My Blue Heaven.” He eventually concluded with “I’ll See You in My Dreams.”
“One more, Meadow, one more,” called out James. The jazz musician ran his fingers gingerly over the keys, sounding a few more blues transitions, and then stopped. “Maizie Bean, come here. You feel like singin’ for your mama tonight?”
Maizie looked shyly at Meadowlark and around the room. Mary gave a look of encouragement and James gave her a nod. Capp smiled his slow-blooming Kentucky smile. Ol’ Jon looked into her eyes with warmth. Philippe said, “Oh oui, mon cher, si’l vous plait.”
Meadowlark got off his piano bench and went to Maizie, grabbing her hand and pulling her back to the piano. The crowd began to clap. “Come, Maizie Bean, we will sing to your mama together.” So, sitting on the bench of the grand piano next to Meadowlark, Maizie waited through the opening notes. Meadowlark turned his head to Maizie and nodded, and the two began slowly in harmony.
After the completion of the first verse, about a lazy river and noonday sun, Meadowlark held up a finger indicating to wait. He changed the rhythm slightly to bluesy in mood. Meadowlark gave Maizie a nod to begin singing; he remained silent. At first it was unclear what to do, so Meadowlark, sensing her confusion, said softly, “Sing for your mama, Maizie Bean. Sing so she can hear you.”
“Oh Meadow, I can’t. Sing with me,” she begged softly.
“I will, but you take it f
or now.” Looking into the crowd, Maizie saw the familiar faces, which gave her a sense of confidence. Her shyness began to slip away. Finding courage, she swallowed nervously and began. After a rough beginning peppered with a few missed notes, her voice grew louder, more sure, and Meadowlark nodded as he banged on the keys. Maizie moved gently to Meadowlark’s jazz rhythms, rocking slightly, patting her leg. Then feeling constrained by the piano bench, she stood and moved with feeling around to the front of the piano, the music and words defining her performance.
Maizie’s voice grew stronger and more bell-like. Meadowlark harmonized effortlessly with his young protégé. As Maizie relaxed, her throat opened and her breathing deepened. She looked at the guests, all standing and moving slightly to the music. Soft smiles brightened their faces. Ol’ Jon’s eyes filled with tears. As Maizie sang the final verse, she put her hand to her heart and accepted applause from the listeners gathered around her.
“Your mama couldn’t help but hear that.” Meadowlark gave Maizie a warm smile. “I think you’re a natural, Maizie Bean.”
“A natural?” asked Maizie.
“You have a gift, Maizie. Like your daddy.”
Chapter 42
Maizie’s Diary
August 7, 1931
Oh my, what a night! Meadowlark did a sing-along after dinner and asked me to sing “Up a Lazy River” with him. We harmonized. I sang the easy part and he finds the notes that sound just so nice. He stopped singing and had me do it alone for a while. I imagined that I was singing just for Mama. I was scared at first, but then it just felt good. Everyone said nice things. Having people clap for me was wonderful. Almost as good as when Capp smiles at me.
Through Tender Thorns Page 13
