He went into one of the barns and approached a young groomsman cooling down a thoroughbred. When the boy looked up, Capp smiled and extended his hand. After turning off the water hose, the groom returned the smile and shook Capp’s hand. “My name is Capp Wembley. I’m a manager at Glidewell Ranch in Missouri.”
“My name is Skip. Never heard of a Glidewell Ranch. What you doin’ here at Churchill Downs?”
“Here to secure an apprenticeship or maybe a job. Want to learn all I can about thoroughbred racing. Do you know someone I can talk to?”
“Lots of work here,” laughed Skip. “But not sure about jobs.”
“Not a job then, an apprenticeship that is what the letter said.”
“Letter?”
“A letter inviting me.”
“Well, times are tough. We have over five hundred thoroughbreds here being trained right now. The trainers are the ones you need to talk to. Check with Bob Hench over there, the man with the baseball hat. That’s his barn.”
“Thanks.” Capp walked over to the barn and introduced himself to Bob. Bob was a friendly sort and, as luck would have it, he was in need of help. When Capp explained all of his horse experience, Bob offered him an apprenticeship immediately.
“Go see the backside manager. Office is down at the end of this walkway. Check in with the secretary. She can assign you a bunk. Just tell her you are working on Bob Hench’s team. She knows I’m needing a good rider. I’ll cover your room and board.”
“Thanks, that’s it?” questioned Capp in disbelief.
“That’s it. No money, just room and board. If you can do what you say, we need you. When you are done, come back here. You and I will go to lunch and talk thoroughbred horses.” He reached to shake Capp’s hand. “You got yourself a warm coat? It’ll be gettin’ cold.”
“Sheepskin, right here in my suitcase.”
“Good thing, we start around here at five or six a.m.,” warned Bob.
“Same as Glidewell. Watching the sunrise on horseback is a wonderful thing.” He turned to go check in.
Capp went looking for the backside office. He felt a lightness, a happiness. The fact that he was now a man working and learning at Churchill Downs was sinking in. The backside office, situated under the grandstand, was well marked. Opening the door caused bells to ring—a cheerful welcoming. They rang again as he closed the door. Seated at a large desk was an attractive blonde woman. “You must be the secretary?”
As Capp approached the counter, it hit him. “Matilda?”
Matilda put down her pen and stared. “I’ll be, if it isn’t the wrangler from Missouri, Cowboy Capp. You made it to ol’ Kentucky.”
“You work here?”
“Yep.”
“You never mentioned it.”
“Don’t like people thinkin’ I’m a working girl.”
“Where’d you get that blond hair? I hardly recognized you.”
“A bottle. I look like Jean Harlow, don’t you think?”
“Jean Harlow?”
“Oh, never mind. What are you doing here?”
“I just got work here. Bob Hench sent me to see if you’d have a bunk for me.”
“Maybe.” Matilda opened a binder on her desk and thumbed through it. She ran her finger down the sloppy ledger and then stopped. “It seems we do have a bunk. Will you be needing a meal ticket too?”
“Yep, sure will. Got to eat.” Capp was studying her now. Her new blond hair was the color of dry hay, dark roots along her part line. She had it pulled and tied in the back with a loose, green ribbon. Her eyes were blue, her shirt tight. Finally she looked up after filling out a meal card and noting the bunk assignment in her binder.
“Someone down at the backside will show you around. How long you plan on being here?”
“Until spring.”
“You still workin’ for Glidewell?”
“Sure am.”
“I did enjoy the match races at your ranch. Nice memories.” Tilly reached for the back of Capp’s hand and lightly stroked it, a sensuous touch.
Capp watched her stroke his hand and said, “Yeah, I do remember.” Turning his hand over, he gripped her fingers tenderly.
Matilda pulled her hand away and pushed a strand of dry blond hair behind her right ear. “What you gonna do here?” she asked.
“Learn. We are going to start breeding, raising, and training thoroughbreds along with our quarter horses.”
“I do remember you talking about that,” she said while she pulled a stick of gum from her purse. “Want some?”
“Don’t mind if I do. You sure don’t disappoint.”
“In what ways do I not disappoint?”
“You always have a pack of gum and other gifts, if I may say so.”
Matilda, leaning on her forearms, watched Capp as he pulled a piece of gum from the package. “You like my hair or not?”
“Sure does change your looks.”
“Makes me feel different too. More glamorous somehow.” With her index finger she began to smooth her brows and purse her lips.
Capp watched her with interest. “Is that so?”
“Here’s your bunk and house number and your meal ticket.”
“Thanks.”
“I did enjoy your company at the hotel,” she said looking up through her half-closed eyes. “It was nice of you to see me off.”
“That was nice, Matilda.” Capp smiled.
“Tilly. Call me Tilly. That’s what they call me around here.”
“Well then I have a message for you, Tilly.”
“And what would that be?”
“A guy named Martin says hello.”
Matilda looked up surprised. “Really? Where’d you meet him?”
“He picked me up. Gave me a ride here. Called you Tilly. Said to say hi to you.”
“That right?”
“It is. Called you Tilly the Filly.”
“Not that! I hate that. But good old Martin doesn’t have manners. Love that truck of his, though. He might buy my daddy’s farm. We might raise horses together.” She raised her eyebrows and looked Capp squarely in his eyes.
“He your boyfriend?
“Maybe. Depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“Depends on him and his daddy.”
“Really? How could it depend on the two of them?”
“Money. That’s how.”
“You lookin’ to marry money?”
“Might be. Couldn’t hurt in these times.”
Capp looked at her as a response developed in his mind, but he decided better of it and just nodded. “Guess I’ll see you around,” he said as he made his way to leave, but then hesitated. “You know, I remember that you and I had a talk about raising horses together.”
“That’s right, we did. Maybe I was just playin’ with you. Ever think of that?”
“Didn’t feel like playing. I know that. This was different.”
Matilda cocked her head, showing great interest in Capp’s perception of their tryst. Capp pushed off from the counter, signaling he was ready to go.
Matilda, demonstrating some degree of urgency, said, “How about I show you the town? Get reacquainted.”
Capp looked at her, considered her invitation, and then finally said, “You got time tonight?”
Chapter 53
Reluctant Sharing
“Maizie dear, what’s wrong?” Mary rushed to Maizie’s bedside one night after she’d been awoken by the girl’s screams. She found Maizie with her head in her pillow crying. “Maizie, what’s wrong?”
Maizie turned, looking surprised that Mary was standing over her. “Nothing, just another nightmare.” Mary leaned over Maizie and stroked her hair off her forehead. Mary’s gesture did nothing to calm Maizie’s crying.
“Will you tell me? Maybe it will help to talk about it.”
“You’ll think I’m crazy or something.” Maizie sobbed.
“Maizie, tell me what’s going on.”
Maizie put her head on her pillow and looked up to the ceiling. “If I tell you, will you tell Capp?”
“Why would I tell Capp?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t want him to know.”
“Look. I would never share private things about you with Capp. Or anyone else. This will be just between you and me.”
Maizie tightly gripped her bed covers, willing the nightmare to recede from her thoughts, but it was useless—the horror of the dream was too real.
“I’d rather be alone.”
“I’m not leaving.”
Maizie fell back on her pillow. Rolling to her side, she turned her back toward Mary and closed her eyes.
Growing tired of looking at Maizie’s back, Mary walked to the other side of the bed so she could see the young girl’s face. Maizie opened her eyes, one at a time. Seeing Mary staring at her, she gave in.
“It seemed so real.” She sighed deeply. “I was scared when I woke up.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“I was a little girl sitting on my mama’s lap. She was telling a wonderful story. My mama talked about a flight above the land. She described the trees, the rushing river, the clouds from up high. It was like a poem to me, magical.” Maizie’s expression darkened. “Then things turned ugly. There was a loud knocking on the side of a house. Mama held me tight. A man broke through the door. It’s the same man in all my nightmares. He’s tall but has no face. He sat on the chair and pounded his fist, demanding food. There was little food and he became so angry he yelled, picked up a cup on the table and threw it at my mama. The cup shattered on the wall.”
Mary reached for Maizie’s hand to hold it, but the girl withdrew. “Go on.”
“I screamed and Mama picked me up and ran out of the house on bare feet. She ran down a path towards a muddy river and placed my feet on the ground. She spread her arms and told me to do the same. Reaching for my hand we were lifted on a warm draft of air high above the land and over the river. We flew along the river and were carried away from the danger. But Mary, my mama let go of me and I began to drift and fall away. My mama had this strange smile on her face. I tried to right my flight, but I couldn’t. I cried for her to help me, but I was being blown farther and farther away.”
Mary remained silent for a moment. “That’s a scary dream.”
“She let go of me. I was falling from the sky, because my mama let go!” Maizie cried.
“It was only a bad dream.”
“No Mary, I lived these things. The details are so clear to me.”
“What details?”
“In my nightmares, I’m in a little house with my mama. The house is near a river. And then a man comes in. Something bad happens, when he comes in. Always.”
“You don’t think you fell from the sky, do you?”
“No, but it felt real. The house, the man, the river. They must be real things. Mama and I were trying to run away and she let go of me.”
“Do you remember the house?”
“I remember the little house in the dream. And I have many memories of walking along a river.”
Mary reached for Maizie’s hand again, and this time the girl didn’t recoil.
“I don’t want these nightmares. I want them to go away.”
“I know. Do you think that there may be a clue among your mama’s things? Maybe there is something that could explain your memories.”
“There was one thing interesting, a map of Mississippi. It has marks on it. I don’t remember my mama ever using a map, but I don’t remember much from Mississippi.”
“May I see the map?”
“There’s more than a map. A pillowcase with initials on it. That was the only clean thing in the bag. My mama’s things were old and dirty.” Maizie looked up at Mary. “They didn’t look dirty to me before. Living here has changed how I see things. It has changed me.”
Maizie’s eyes portrayed her pain and sorrow and Mary’s heart melted.
“I don’t want you to see me how I was then,” Maizie continued. She withdrew her hand from Mary’s, sat up, and hugged her knees to her chest.
“Maizie, the first time I saw you, I saw you. I knew you needed a family. That is what we are, all of us, a family. You were meant to come here to be with us. I believe it was your destiny.”
“Destiny?”
“Yes, your fate.”
“Sometimes I’m so happy here I could burst. Sometimes I feel guilty ’cause my mama had nothing and I have so much. I can’t figure out our life together, my mama and me. And now that I am here I am so confused. Why would she choose to travel all the time? I never had a home. Not until now. I thought I was like my mama, not afraid, but my nightmares are telling me I was a frightened little girl.”
Mary stood up and walked to the window in Maizie’s room. “Maizie, let’s look at that map and your mother’s things. Glidewell may be your future, but that bag is your past.” Mary was quiet for a moment to allow Maizie to take it all in.
Then she added, “Let’s face your past together.”
Chapter 54
Maizie’s Diary
October, 1931
Mary looked at the things in my mama’s bag. On the death certificate she noticed my mother’s name was written down as Caroline Freedman. She asked me if my parents married. I don’t think so. Don’t know why Mama used Freedman as her last name, she must have had one of her own.
I try to forget about Mama’s sickness. She was in so much pain and no one could help her. I held her like she always did me. She died in my arms, in a women’s shelter on a dirty bed. I’ve never been so scared and alone in my life.
I am not alone now. I know that and I don’t want to be sad. My mama always said, “Little girl, don’t you waste a day being sad, ’cause no one care if you are, except me. You just losin’ a day you could be livin’.” I got to believe my mama knew what she was talkin’ about. I don’t want to waste too many more days.
Tommy O’Rourke took me for a riding lesson around the track a few days back. We raced. Breezy ran as fast as she could. I loved the wind in my hair and the feeling of moving fast down the track. Of course, Tommy won. He was on a young colt named Shoo Fly. Tommy says I look really good in the saddle. He says that Capp asked him to give me horseback-riding lessons. I like thinking that Capp had me on his mind before he left. I still think about him a lot. I miss him, especially his smile.
I’m not going to worry about that girl, Matilda. Mary thinks Capp is a real ladies’ man. I don’t want to think about that either.
Bonne nuit, mon ami,
Maizie Sunday Freedman
Chapter 55
The Portrait
Rye Fulton, photographer, was hard at work in his studio. He had spent many hours developing the pictures from the match-race weekend at the Glidewell Ranch. His editor had wanted the pictures soon to see the scope of possibilities for publication. The editor had never been to the ranch himself, but he’d heard enough to know it was someplace special, and Rye’s photography would prove it.
The lighting on that summer weekend had proven tricky, but Rye was an artist and he was able to consistently get beautiful shots with early-morning and evening shadows. Rye could work magic with photographic imagery. His photos became narratives and sometimes there was a poetic nuance about them—the horses, the men, the women, the buildings all working together to create a story of the west. The beauty of the architecture, limestone, timbers and people melded into a tapestry of life and art. Rye Fulton’s photographs told a human story of a community working toward common goals, surviving a great economic turndown with the generosity of a benevolent owner and a hardworking a
nd diverse staff. The ranch was a respite from the Depression and drought that dampened a spirit of hope.
Rye watched as one particular photo came to life in the developing pan. The blacks, whites, and grays were varied and the developing shapes soon disclosed one of the most beautiful portraits Rye had ever shot. He remembered the girl. She wore a blue dress, but it was her eyes, her soulful expression, and enigmatic smile that engaged him. He’d been looking at a face of immeasurable depth and mystery. Something about this girl pulled him close. This impromptu portrait was his finest work, a pinnacle of artistic endeavor. Such happenstance that for one brief moment with neither thought nor design he, Rye Fulton, could take such a picture. It was inspiring. He hung the photo on the drying line and watched as the water rinse dripped onto his working bench.
There was much he could do commercially with such a portrait. He had advertisers that would fight over this face as a symbol of their marketing. This girl had an ethnicity about her that made her uncommon and intriguing. What advertisers wouldn’t love the idea of “uncommon and intriguing” as part of an advertising campaign? He had heard the girl sing during the weekend, so if she’d pursue a singing career, perhaps this should be her publicity shot. Or he could do what he was doing at this moment, lust after the young woman, hardly a girl, in private, alone.
He laughed for a moment, thinking he had photographed a Madonna only known to God and himself. The image touched his soul. Yes, he would keep this photograph to himself. It would not be part of the Glidewell Ranch article. Maybe one day he would give her a print of her portrait. But this first one was his.
Chapter 56
Belonging Somewhere
Every evening as Mary and Maizie sat having a cup of Ol’ Jon’s tea, the two talked about all manner of interesting topics: fashion, dreams, love, beauty (inside and out), racial prejudice, education, leadership, government, and justice. Maizie listened to all that Mary was saying and began to take part in the conversations, expressing her interest, her questions, and eventually her thoughts, ideas, and even her opinions. Maizie was developing her mind and this made Mary happy. She was also demonstrating some spunk, which Mary found refreshing. The two were breaking new ground, and her dreams for Maizie were hard to keep silent.
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