When he opened the door to the office, Tilly was freshening her lipstick and pushing a few untamed blond hairs back into their proper place. She grabbed her red pocketbook, threw in her car keys, and closed the clasp. Moving around the counter she locked eyes with Capp and sauntered toward him. When she was within a few inches, she removed his hat with her free hand and kissed him firmly on the lips. Then she dropped her purse and his hat and reached her arms around his neck. “I sure did miss you, Capp,” she cooed. “You were gone to Arkansas way too long.”
Capp stepped back. “Look Tilly, I’ll be leavin’ soon. Going back to Glidewell. And so I guess this’ll be the end of you and me.”
“Doesn’t have to be. My plan is good, Capp. You know that. And you can help me get the money for the farm.”
“I can’t, Tilly. I have no business asking Mr. Glidewell for money. I told you that.”
Tilly pouted, but decided she’d drop it for now. She would not tell Capp about the bright red lipstick around his mouth. Hoping the entire Churchill Down backside would see her not-so-subtle claim on him, Tilly grabbed his hand and led him out the door.
Chapter 61
Brown Hotel
Tilly pulled up to the train depot, found a parking spot, turned off the engine, and said, “Want a stick of Wrigley’s?”
“No thank you,” Capp said flatly.
“All right, let’s go meet your daddy.”
“Tilly, you ain’t comin’. I’ll only be around the backside for a bit longer, then I’m goin’ back to Missouri. We are done. How many times do I have to tell you?”
“Come on, Capp.”
“Tilly, no. You and I are finished for now. I have work to do in Missouri. Maybe one day, not now, but one day in the future, I can come back. ”
“Ah gee, Capp. You’re bein’ mean just now,” whined Tilly as she put her hand on his left cheek. Capp grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her hand down. Not discouraged, she put her other hand on Capp’s thigh.
“Jesus, Tilly, stop it! I got to go.” He opened the car door and jumped out, then realized his suitcase was in the backseat. Slamming the passenger-side door, he opened the rear door, and quickly grabbed his things. “Bye and thank you for the ride,” he yelled and then closed the door. In the train depot the stationmaster told him that the train was running late and wouldn’t be arriving for another thirty minutes. Capp looked around for a place to wait. An empty wood bench with a view of the loading platform was perfect.
Capp had been sitting for a few minutes, waiting, when Tilly slid in next to him. “Capp, please. I want to meet your daddy and Mr. Glidewell. Show them what Southern hospitality is really like. Maybe they could come to dinner at our farm. Maybe they’d want to lease it.” Capp sighed deeply.
“Tilly, you go on now. I’m gettin’ mad.”
“Promise me you’ll invite them for dinner?”
“No, Tilly. Don’t you get it? They aren’t here to socialize or be friendly or look at your farm. We are here to buy thoroughbreds for Glidewell,” Capp said, trying hard not to make a scene. Tilly stood abruptly. She leaned down to kiss Capp, lost her footing and fell into Capp’s lap, giggling. Capp pushed her back, stood, and walked with his suitcase and coat to the men’s lounge.
He headed for the sinks, looked in the mirror, and was embarrassed to notice Tilly’s red lipstick all around his mouth. He grabbed a towel from the attendant and made every effort to remove the noticeable red smudge. Eventually all evidence was gone. Feeling grateful that his dad and James hadn’t seen Tilly’s lipstick brand on his face, he made his way back to the waiting room. It appeared that Tilly was gone. Capp heaved a sigh of relief and found a seat. What had he seen in her?
When the stationmaster announced that the train would arrive in five minutes, Capp picked up his things and walked to the platform. Hearing the approaching train sound its whistle, Capp watched until he could see it in the distance. Now the important job would begin. Capp would explain all he had learned over the last eight months. He would help pick the horses that may bring greatness and esteem to Glidewell Ranch. For a moment, old memories of the folks at Glidewell raced through his mind. The last one was Maizie. For a fleeting second, he wondered how she was doing.
James and Wil disembarked and the three men greeted one another on the platform with manly hugs. As Capp had anticipated, James had retained a car and driver to be their escort for the two weeks. The three men climbed into the five-passenger four-door Buick sedan and were driven in style by Hank, a driver of great reputation, to the Brown Hotel.
At the hotel, James released the driver until the next morning. The three walked through the front door, and James, experienced in the decorum and pleasantries of a fine hotel, walked to the front desk. He registered, opened an account, and took the keys for his rooms on the sixteenth floor.
The lobby was opulent, with marble tile, hardwood and carpeted floors, cream-colored walls and hand-painted moldings and motifs, gilded chandeliers, and a sitting room with overstuffed chairs and tables for conversation or work. The Georgian Revival elegance of the architecture was awe inducing, and the efforts to practice timeless Southern charm were clearly on display. Wil and Capp, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the finery, stood together waiting for James. A bellman quickly surfaced and took all the luggage and showed the men to the elevator. Capp looked at his dad and said, “You ever been to such a fancy place?”
“Don’t believe I have, son. Feeling like a fish out of water.”
James laughed. “We are going to sleep fine, eat well, and have ourselves a successful working holiday. We all deserve it. I wanted Mary to come, but she passed. She’s leavin’ all this work to us.”
“Horse shopping is difficult, I hear. We are building pedigrees. These thoroughbreds will be our foundation. That’s what Bob says,” said Capp. “Can’t wait to get back to Glidewell. Gettin’ homesick, I guess.”
“We were worried you found a girl, since you hardly ever wrote,” said Wil and slapped Capp on the back.
“Thought maybe I had. But I was too busy to be seeing a gal all the time. Gave her up.”
James laughed, “Horse flesh is better?”
“I guess you can say that. But like you said, Mr. Glidewell, I represent Glidewell Ranch. No time for play.”
The elevator reached the top floor and the men stepped out and followed the bellman to their appointed rooms. They agreed to clean up and meet for a whiskey or two. Talk horses. “It was Mary’s idea to bring whiskey in a suitcase,” said James. “She’s the consummate hostess, even when she’s not here.”
“Now, that Mary is one smart woman,” said Wil. “Whiskey is sounding good.”
“She’s a wonderful woman,” admitted James as the bellman unlocked his door. Capp thought about James’s comment for a moment and wondered if he would end up unlucky in love. It seemed to Capp as though life was like horse racing, a crap shoot, a matter of luck. The thought of breeding and owning his own horses one day still weighed on his mind, but Tilly Coombs was not the way to get there. Not now. His future belonged to Glidewell, for the short term at least. He realized that now with certainty.
Chapter 62
The Photographer
The day that Rye Fulton arrived to share his work from match race weekend, Corky drove the Packard Coupe to the train depot to pick him up. Finding the photographer seated on a bench waiting patiently, Corky apologized for being late. “Was waiting for a cake to come out of the oven. I’ll give you an extra piece as an apology,” stated Corky as he extended his hand.
“And I’ll take it,” said Rye as he shook Corky’s hand. “I’m Rye Fulton. You working in the ranch house now? Where’s the Frenchman?”
“I’m just filling in. He went to New York City. On vacation.”
“I see,” said Rye.
“I’m Corky. I remember you, Rye. You were everywhere during the m
atch races. Hope you got a picture of me and Doll.”
“You and Doll?”
Corky laughed. “Doll is my horse. She’s my girl. Prettiest horse you ever saw.”
“Well, when we get to the ranch, I’ll show you the proofs. If there is a picture of you and Doll, you can order one,” said the photographer.
“Might do just that. Yep, I would like a photo of me and Doll hangin’ up in the mess hall.”
Upon returning to the ranch, Corky escorted Rye to a guest room, helping him with his suitcase, camera bag, and valise.
The photographer approached a window overlooking the cattle in the field. “I remember this view. Takes my breath away.”
“Yeah. The architect claims there is a picture through every window. Guess you would know. Being a photographer and all.”
“I’d say he is right about this one. Hey, I was wondering, is that pretty girl still here? The one who sings with the piano player?”
“You mean Maizie?”
“Maybe.”
“Why you interested?”
“Just thought she was pretty, kind of different looking. I admit, I’m mesmerized by a photo I took of her.”
“I see. Well keep it to yourself. Mrs. Glidewell wouldn’t like a man your age asking about Maizie and thinkin’ the girl is pretty.”
“Why is that?”
“’Cause she wouldn’t think it proper. She protects the girl.”
Chapter 63
Claim Races at Churchill Downs
May 2, 1932
After a few days of viewing what Bob called unqualified horses, James was losing interest in claiming a good thoroughbred for racing or breeding. Bob Hench suggested they give it one more day. Claiming a horse comes with a lot of unanswered questions, and this made James uncomfortable. An owner could only view the horse from common areas of the racetrack before the race. Claimers were not allowed to visit the horse or have a vet perform an exam. James thought it a strange way to buy a horse.
Bob Hench knew all the trainers and had watched virtually every horse on the grounds during morning workouts. His knowledge of the trainers and his insights from watching the horses were the keys to spotting a good claim horse. If a trainer was less skilled or his horses performed poorly because of lack of training, that horse may have potential that wasn’t properly developed. Given good training, proper workouts, excellent feed, and a well-trained jockey, the horse’s quality could improve considerably. So Bob looked for sound horses from poor trainers, and he was happy to share this knowledge. On this final day of attempting to claim a horse, there were four such horses competing in the afternoon’s races that, in Bob’s considered opinion, were good ones.
Forty-five minutes before the races, Bob, Wil, and Capp were making close observations as the horses walked from the barns to the saddling stalls. Bob was looking for signs of poor horse behavior, or a limp, or unusual sweating. Any horse that presented with questionable characteristics was downgraded and not considered for claiming. In Bob’s mind, owners of one of these horses might be intending to dump a bad horse and gain a little money. He was not naïve to that possibility.
James ran to deposit the requisite cash with the track master, picked up the program for the day’s races, and rejoined the others at the saddling stalls. It was here they could catch a closer look at the racehorses.
“See that chestnut stallion there?” Bob asked. All three men nodded. “That horse has good conformation, seems excited to race, but look at his head. See how he keeps pulling up. He is only two years old, may only need to mature and get some good training. He might have untapped potential. Good trainers and jockeys can take a good horse and make him a great racehorse and competitor.”
Capp asked, “Should we claim him?”
“I would. Your call, but my instincts are pretty good. I’ve been watching him work out,” Bob stated. “Don’t point or look excited, we don’t want anyone else puttin’ in a claim.” Bob demonstrably shook his head hoping anyone watching him would think he was no longer interested in the chestnut. He turned to walk toward another stall.
“Why don’t you claim him, Bob?” asked James.
“Trainers can’t claim, only owners,” explained Bob. “Your claim has to be placed fifteen minutes before post time. Want to try to get that big boy?” James remained undecided until Wil weighed in. “James, let’s do it. Break the ice. Might be the right move. If not a racehorse, he might make a good stud. He’s a beauty; and spirited. I know it’s a crap shoot, but…”
“Let’s do it!” exclaimed Capp.
“Shhhh, kid, we don’t want anyone to know we are interested in that horse. It’s kinda like poker. Got to keep your cards close to your vest,” advised Bob.
The four men, all wearing varying styles of hats—James a fedora, Wil and Capp each a Stetson, and Bob a Chicago Cubs baseball hat—walked abreast to the racing office, filled out a three-by-five-inch card and placed it in the claiming box.
James could feel the adrenaline running through his veins. “All right men, let’s join the crowd on the rail, and see if our boy, Cherokee Sunrise, can take it,” he said. “But wait, what if he gets injured or dies during this race?”
“As soon as the race starts, he’s your horse. If an injury happens during the race, the horse is still yours. I’ve seen that happen. One guy claimed a horse that broke its leg. The horse had to be destroyed, but the horse was his, like it or not.”
“Well, that’s not goin’ to happen. What are the chances?” asked Capp.
“Capp, you know better. Horses always gettin’ injured in races,” said Wil.
“Well, it ain’t gonna happen today, ’cause I feel lucky.” The three men laughed at Capp’s youthful optimism and walked to the track rail near the finish line.
Watching the horses line up behind the starting-rope barrier was stressful for James. The idea that he had a thousand dollars on a claim ticket in the race office was beginning to sink in. This was his horse, if no one else placed a claim. Cherokee Sunrise was flicking his head up repeatedly and moving nervously as he and the jockey waited for the flag to drop. When the race finally started, the horses were immediately called back for a false start. James was certain that this wasn’t a good omen.
On the third start, they were off.
Cherokee Sunrise balked a bit but the jockey, finding his balance, urged him on. The thoroughbreds were running fast, nearing the first turn. Cherokee Sunrise was next to last but gaining. As the leaders went into the turn, Cherokee Sunrise passed two more horses at the back of the pack. Rounding the first turn, the jockey held Cherokee firm, apparently comfortable staying back. Entering into the backstretch, the jockey let Cherokee run and made a move around the pack. He passed the pack, and now, in an effort to catch the two horses in the lead, the horse stretched, put his head down, and improved his speed. Gaining distance in every stride, the jockey rose up on his stirrups, rump in the air, and leaned over the horse’s neck, using his crop to gain speed for the finish. James was pounding his hand on the rail, yelling at the top of his lungs.
As the horses approached the finish line, it looked as though the Glidewell thoroughbred would take the lead. Running hard, he and another horse crossed the finish line together. It looked like it was anyone’s guess who won. “Could be a tie,” said Bob.
“Cherokee needs some start training. I can help with that,” said Capp, looking at James for reassurance.
James raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Yes, you can.” He slapped Capp on his back. After a minute or two the announcer said, “Cherokee Sunrise won by a nose.” Capp, Wil, Bob, and James were amazed. The horse that seemed so poorly trained had proven he knew how to run. Despite his less-than-perfect start, he’d maneuvered his way around the field. Bob had made a sound choice, and James realized that a Glidewell thoroughbred had just won a race. It was beyond comprehension. And he hope
d there would be many more.
Chapter 64
An Encounter
The sun positioned itself on the horizon for its predictable fall off the edge of the world, the sky aflame with color. Corky and Maizie were busy finishing their kitchen chores. As usual they bantered about life around the ranch. Maizie felt a closeness to Corky from working with him during Phillipe and Leon’s absence. There was a warmth and goodness about Corky.
“I saw Jeb. He’s in a lot of pain,” said Maizie, her eyes filled with sympathy.
“That’s what I hear,” agreed Corky. “Good horse trainer, Jeb. You have to admire him. Seems he is mighty alone right now.” Maizie nodded, thinking about her mother and how alone she had been.
“I know you are right, Corky. Jeb and I talk now and again. He cares about me, I can tell. He taught me all I know about foals. I am still sad about losing Jonny’s Bay Run. I named him. Mrs. Glidewell says I’ll get over it, but so far I haven’t.”
“Takes a long time. In the army I had a horse named Patriot. When I retired I hated leaving that horse. He and I were a team. But that stallion was a government issue; a gall darn G.I. I had no rights to him. Broke my heart. I was sad until I met Doll, then it all changed.”
Maizie slowly turned toward Corky and smiled. She understood about Corky’s loss, but so far she had nothing to take away the pain of losing her colt. “I know how you felt, Corky.”
The two continued to work, their after-dinner routine efficient and well-practiced. Maizie picked up a mop and began one of the last chores of the evening, cleaning the kitchen floor. As she pushed the mop forward and back, she suddenly stopped and said, “Can I ask you a question?”
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