He found a woman unconscious on the floor. One arm appeared to have been badly trampled, and the woman’s head was bleeding from a blow to her forehead, her nose crushed. Fritz grabbed Glory Be by his halter and pulled the stallion from the stall, being careful to guide him around the fallen woman. “That’s a good boy. Come on, good boy,” said Fritz while he stroked the horse’s neck and chest. He pulled a leather lead from a tack hook and attached it to the horse’s halter and tied him outside an empty stall. Having secured his charge, he returned to the woman and checked her pulse, first in her neck and then in the wrist on her good arm. She was alive. He ran to the barn phone and called an ambulance and then Wil.
Having made a habit of sleeping in his jeans at the backside the night before a race, Wil arrived quickly. “Ambulance not here?” asked Wil.
“No,” Fritz said, using a flashlight he found near the body to take a better look, “She don’t look good.”
“Who the hell gets in a horse stall in the middle of the night?” asked Wil, knowing Fritz would not know the answer. “How did she get in, Fritz?”
“I don’t know. I shut the barn door good, boss. Latch it every time.”
“I know you do, son. Who is she?” Wil removed his hat and got closer to the woman. She was tough to look at, the injuries severe. She was out cold. Her nose bleeding, her head bleeding, she looked beyond repair, like a broken, bloody doll.
“Glory Be must have gotten her twice,” Wil said, scratching the back of his head and rubbing his left temple. “Who the hell goes into a racehorse’s stall at two in the morning? She had no business being here! None!”
Wil walked around the body, bent down, and tried to arouse the woman. A horse whinnied from stall twelve. As he stood, hat still in hand, he heard Corky, Ernesto, and Capp come running, at breakneck speed. Ernesto was shoeless. Capp was still putting on his shirt. Corky was buttoning his fly. “What happened?” they said in unison.
“This woman decided she’d come pay Glory Be a visit,” explained Wil placing his hat back on his head.
Capp looked down at the body. The woman’s hair was pulled back into a ponytail; her cowboy hat lay near her head. “It’s Tilly,” Capp said.
“It is? I would have never recognized her. Why in the hell?” asked Wil.
“It seems she hates me. Blames me somehow for her losing the farm.”
“You have to tell the police, son,” stated Wil. “The girl ain’t right.” Capp looked at his father and nodded.
“Hurry. Call the police, Capp. Get them out here.”
Corky walked into the stall and started pushing the straw around with his boot. There on the ground was a large syringe. “Look,” said Corky as he bent to pick it up. “It’s a horse syringe. Full of something.” All stood in silence as they passed it around.
A police car and ambulance finally arrived, sirens blaring. Grooms began to sleepily gather in groups outside their respective barns. Most horses in Hench’s barn began to snort and squeal and move nervously in their stalls. Wil, worried about one of the thoroughbreds suffering a stall injury ran out of the barn waving his arms in the air. The sirens were quickly silenced. Two paramedics and two police officers ran into the barn behind Wil and he guided them to the woman. The medical team immediately removed her coat and handed it to the police. Searching the woman’s right coat pocket, one of the police officers found an empty vial, a full vial, and another syringe. In the left pocket he found a set of car keys and a pack of Wrigley’s gum.
The officer seeming to oversee the investigation held the full vial, turning it in his hand. “The vial says sodium pentobarbital.”
“Here’s another we found on the floor of the stall,” said Corky as he handed it to the cop.
“Sodium pentobarbital slows a horse’s heart, at best. You have enough of the sedative, you can kill one,” said Wil.
“This stuff will kill a horse?” asked the officer.
“Like I said, if you have enough. And two vials is more than enough,” said Wil, looking again at Tilly.
“How could anyone do that to a healthy horse?” asked Ernesto. Looking down at Tilly’s body, he shook his head and added, “Loca. La dama esta loca.”
“Crazy as hell,” agreed Corky.
“We’ll get on it. Do you have any idea who she might be?” asked another officer.
Capp stepped towards the officer. “She’s Tilly Coombs. She likes Wrigley’s gum. Uses it as a calling card.”
“She a friend of yours?” inquired the second cop.
“At one time, maybe. But we had a falling out,” explained Capp.
“I think your horse fared better than her. He got her good. That nose won’t ever be the same,” concluded the second policeman. Capp looked sadly down at her, pity awash on his face.
Chapter 106
A Glorious Ride
May 4, 1935
At the Brown Hotel, James and Mary were sleeping soundly when the phone rang. Both woke up as James reached for the phone receiver. James listened carefully, asked a few questions, and hung up. Throwing off the covers he put his feet on the floor and proceeded to get dressed.
“What’s going on?” Mary asked sleepily.
“I have to go to the barn.”
“Why?”
“There was an incident.”
“I heard you say Tilly’s name.”
“Yes, looks like she tried to kill Glory Be.”
“My God. That’s crazy! Is Glory Be all right?”
“Yep, she tried, but he’s fine.”
“Tilly?”
“She’s in the hospital. That’s all I know.”
“Dear God, James.”
“Come to the track around noon.” He bent down and kissed her, then smoothed her brow. “Don’t worry, Mary. She’s alive.”
By the time James arrived at the backside, all barns, racehorses, and handlers had heard the news. The place was teeming with excitement for the day’s races, but the mishap was on everyone’s mind. Capp had Glory Be on the track briefly to test his soundness. Several owners and trainers approached James and expressed their concern over Tommy O’Rourke’s injuries and Glory Be’s encounter. “Tough luck,” many said, but not all were sincere. Trainers reassured James that Eddie la Paz was an excellent jockey and had experience riding unfamiliar mounts in important races.
“Tommy?” James was shocked to see the young jockey at the edge of the track.
“Here to help with Glory. I’ve been talkin’ with that horse for the last hour,” said Tommy. “He’s fine. Better than me. Why, if she had dropped him, I’d…”
“It’s gonna be fine, Tommy. How’d you get here?” asked James.
“Took a cab from the hospital. Doctor released me. I begged him to. Had to be here.”
“Glad you are. Don’t get bumped. Looks like you are wrapped up pretty good.”
“Hardest thing is peeing. Can’t unbutton my fly,” said Tommy.
The two stood quietly together at the edge of the track while the horses worked out and the sun rose above the horizon, exposing a sky promising rain.
“Looks like we got rain coming from over there,” said Tommy as he looked up. “Track will be muddy.”
“Now we don’t have to worry if it will rain, just when.”
“That’s one way of looking at it,” said Tommy as he stared into the sky.
At eleven thirty, when Mary and Maizie arrived at Churchill Downs, the rain was coming down hard, and the temperature was in the forties. Mary and Maizie opened their umbrellas and maneuvered their way through the crowd. Picking up mint juleps, they headed for the viewing decks to join in the festivities. Having arrived early, they waited for James and watched a few of the preliminary races.
Eddie la Paz was in the barn with Tommy to finalize his preparations for the race. Tommy talked about Glory Be’s
behavior in the gate, how he lifted his head and may rear up. He talked about the horse’s spirit and intelligence. He talked about the fact that the horse was shod with mud calks. “The calks will help at the start. You can drive him hard through the turns, the calks will dig in.”
The Glidewell team liked Glory Be’s post position, number eight in a field of twenty, far enough away from the rail to allow Glory to find a way to run his race. They discussed all the different scenarios that could happen: getting caught in the pack, trapped near the rail, mud in the eyes, and slipping in the mud. Anything was possible, but for a horse like Glory Be and the way he ran his races, they worried most about the condition of the track. James asked Tommy to join them for lunch, but he declined. “I’m always with my horse before a race. Glory Be and I, we’re a team,” said Tommy, leaning into Glory’s neck stroking the stallion’s chest.
As James, Wil, and Capp climbed the stairs to the club, they were surprised to see George Coombs talking with a group of people near the entrance. When George, looking beat and drawn, saw the Glidewell team he excused himself and came over to James and the others. James extended his hand and placed it on George’s upper arm. “May we offer our sympathies, George. The early morning’s events have shaken us deeply.”
“James, I’m sorry you all were entangled in this. Matilda is my girl, but I feared something like this would happen. She’s not herself.”
“How’s she doing?”
“She took a hoof to her head.”
“Do you know what happened?” James asked, one concerned father to another.
“Apparently Tilly went drinking last night. Her friends said she was drunk and rambling on and on about a big surprise she was planning for someone.”
“Well, she succeeded in surprising us all,” said James.
“Why she thought she could sneak into the barn is beyond me,” said Wil. “She had no business being there.” Capp remained quiet, allowing the others to do the talking.
“I know. I came here to talk with you. I’m so ashamed that she did what she did. She wasn’t thinking.”
James let George continue. “It’s been rough. Losing the farm the way we did. We hung on for so long. Our son says my wife and Matilda can come live with them. That way I can stay here and manage the backside; live in a bunkhouse. It’s all such a hard thing. I think losing the farm affected Matilda more than any of us.”
“George, I’m sorry,” James patted George’s shoulder. “Will Matilda be all right?”
“We don’t know. Her face is in bad shape. My heart breaks for her. She’s my only girl.”
“I know, George. I have a daughter, too.”
“You do? Then you do know…”
“I can imagine. I’m sorry.” George looked at James with gratitude and reached to shake his hand. “We have to go now, George. My wife and daughter are here somewhere looking for us.” With a nod, the three men moved away from George, leaving him alone in his grief.
Before they could find Maizie and Mary for lunch, a reporter approached James. It was a quick interview, just corroborating parts of the story the journalist had heard from others. “Will be interesting to see how your horse does today. He had a wild night. Things pretty stacked against you. Heard about your jockey.”
“We are venturing forward. We have a great horse. You’ll see it. Watch him. He loves a crowd and will put on a show. The horse has heart.”
“Glory Be, right? Looks like he’s gone from being a favorite to a long shot. You mad about that?”
“No, not at all. I’m learning that’s horse racing.”
“Heard someone tried to kill him in his stable last night. What can you tell me about that?”
“You’ll have to ask the police. Now if you’ll excuse us, we are meeting my family.” The disappointed reporter tipped his hat, said thanks, and went on his way.
The crowd, dressed in rain gear, was standing in the clubhouse shoulder to shoulder. Heavy rain was falling and the track was growing sloppy. All were hoping for a rain reprieve before the big race. The name Glidewell was on everyone’s lips. Stories were flying around the room. If people didn’t know the facts, they just made them up. Folks were overheard whispering Tilly’s name.
“Can you imagine killing a great horse?” said one.
“Who was the person?” asked another.
“Matilda Coombs. Her father runs the backside.”
“You’re kidding! Well, I’ll be. Now this is quite the rumor.”
“Ain’t no rumor.”
After lunch, Wil and Capp returned to the barn for last-minute preparations. They found Tommy with Glory Be, talking to him softly and stroking his neck, the horse nickering notes of love. The call sounded and Tommy and Capp took Glory Be, wearing an orange Glidewell Ranch blanket, from the barn to the saddling area. Capp was holding the lead, Tommy occasionally patting the horse with his good arm.
Eddie, dressed in the Glidewell colors of blue and orange, came from the weighing station with his saddle. The jockey appeared serious and self-assured, ready for his ride in the mud. Capp took the saddle and put all the gear on the stallion himself, making sure saddle pad, buckles, straps, halter, and bit were secure and properly placed. Wil, Tommy, and Eddie watched silently as the saddling progressed. All were nervous with anticipation, but no one showed it. They stood together like a well-seasoned, experienced team. They knew Glory Be would do what he could. He would do his best. They hoped the mud calks would keep him steady at the start and help him pull hard in the turns.
When the announcer yelled “Riders up,” Capp gave Eddie a leg up, and the jockey swung his free leg over the horse’s back. Adjustments were made to the gear. Eddie tested his stand in the stirrups, and when the gear was perfect, Capp stepped aside. Eddie looked good up there, confident and poised. He tipped his orange jockey’s cap to the team. “I’ll do my best to help Glory Be make a name for himself,” he said. Capp and Tommy, worried as they were, mustered quiet smiles and slapped Glory on the rump.
The bugler assumed his position and played “Boots and Saddles.” The field of twenty beautiful thoroughbred horses strutted out of the saddling area, their post positions pinned to their saddle blankets. When the bugler was done, the crowd began singing “My Old Kentucky Home.” Capp was so moved this year he cried, a gentle cry, a release. It had been such a difficult few days. There was nothing more to worry about now: the race was set, the Glidewell team had done their best.
Mary and James stood in their box under the roof as the parade of horses walked past the stands in the rain. There was only one horse the Glidewells were watching. Mary grabbed James. He was deeply moved by the scene as he patted Mary’s hand. Maizie‘s eyes were following Capp holding the halter, leading horse and jockey in blue and orange. There was Glory Be, their dear horse, the horse who even at his birth seemed destined for this moment.
As each horse was led into the starting gate, a gate handler held on to the horse’s halter as the gate was closed behind. Capp had returned to the rail and joined Tommy and Wil. “He went in easy. No problem in the stall,” Wil said.
From where James was standing, Glory Be looked good. He was keeping his head down, not rearing-up. When the flag dropped, the gates opened, and the announcer yelled, “They’re off!”. The spectators were on their feet; eyes on the field of horses. Pounding out of the gates, the horses began to drive hard down the straight, gaining speed. All were jockeying for positions in the pack. Some were looking to take the rail, some the lead, some stayed with the pack. But as the horses cleared away from the gates, people could see that a jockey had fallen from his mount. The announcer kept his attention on the front of the pack, but James could see with his binoculars that the horse and rider were his. The jockey’s silks, blue and orange, were muddy but identifiable. James’s shoulders slumped. “We are done. Our jockey is down.” Both Mary and Maizie remained silent, while
James threw his race schedule on the floor. “Damn! What the hell!” he yelled.
Capp and Tommy were at the starting gate on the rail, gripping tight. They saw what happened. Glory Be had slipped in the mud, causing him to dislodge Eddie a length out of the starting gate. There was no mistake, only bad luck. The mud calks didn’t grip, his front legs had churned briefly in the mud. Capp put his head down between his arms and gripped the rail even tighter. Tommy simply said, “Feckin’ mud.”
But then as Eddie ran to the edge of the track Glory Be straightened up and began to run. It took him a few seconds to steady himself in the mud, but when he did, he was in the race, without a rider. He pulled through the mud, building up to a fast gallop, the stirrups on his saddle bouncing as he ran, the reins resting on his mane. Glory Be put his head down, stretched and pounded down the track. He galloped faster now, coming up on the back of the pack. He stayed there for a bit as the mud flew in his face from the horses in front of him. As he rounded the first bend and hit the backstretch, he slowed slightly, seeming to figure his next move. Suddenly he sped up again, moving around the pack—one horse, then two, three. Jockeys turned their heads toward the horse outrunning them. Some urged their horses faster, prompted by the riderless horse with the orange blanket. Glory thundered past the pack near the last turn and set his sights on the three horses in the lead. He passed one and pulled hard, stretching into the last straightaway.
The crowd was on their feet, watching Glory Be challenge the two in the lead. The jockeys were now using their crops and reins, pushing their horses faster and faster. The finish line was close now. A horse racing without a jockey may not realize exactly where the finish line is. He may slow down too soon. Jockeys themselves have lost races making a finish-line error. Glory Be was not fooled; he kept charging. Right in front of him now was Omaha, the lead horse. Glory moved to the right and stretched his legs long. With grace and strength the stallion pounded, the reins slapping against his shoulders. The finish line was close now. Omaha’s rider looked to his right and felt Glory moving past him with rhythmic strides. As Glory Be crossed the finish line, there was no question that with no jockey to handle him, he’d maintained his speed and nosed out the rest of the field. He’d come in first.
Through Tender Thorns Page 36
