Golden Filly Collection One

by Lauraine Snelling

  “I will. Thanks.” Trish wiped away a renegade tear as she put the phone down.

  Trish was back at the barns on Monday morning, and although she was moving slowly, she was moving. “Well, Gatesby, old man,” she said as she stopped at his stall, “hear you’re in about the same shape I’m in. How about a nice walk this afternoon?” She stroked his neck, keeping a firm hand on his nose. She didn’t feel like having another bruise on her shoulder.

  “He’s not limping anymore.” David joined her. “I’ve been bathing his shoulder in liniment. We should have used it on you.”

  “Should have.” She retrieved her goggles and helmet from the tack room. With her jacket sleeve, she rubbed the dust from the helmet. Good thing I was wearing this thing, she thought as she secured the chin strap. She snapped her goggles onto her helmet as she approached Spitfire. I’m sure glad Dad taught us to use every safety precaution. And how to fall. What if I’d tensed up?

  “Your seat feel up to sitting up there?” David asked as she gingerly settled herself into the saddle.

  “Not really, but then the thought of a desk at school isn’t too hot an idea either.” She leaned forward to rub her horse’s neck. “And do you think I can get out of either?”

  David shook his head. “Just be careful, okay? Work him long and slow and I’ll take care of the others.” He led her toward the track. “And you have to be on time today. I’ll signal you at quarter to seven.”

  “Yes, mother.” Trish turned Spitfire clockwise on the track and grimaced when he switched from a walk to a trot. Maybe that liniment wasn’t such a bad idea.

  By Wednesday Trish felt like she was behind by three days again. She used every spare minute at school, and if it hadn’t been for chemistry, she would have been all right. However, when Brad turned into the drive, her low spirits leaped into high. The family car was parked in front of the house.

  Trish just waved in answer to Brad’s “See you in a while” and dashed for the door.

  “Dad.” She barely recognized the man lying in the recliner. Fear clutched her throat and strangled her stomach. She dropped her books on the sofa and tiptoed over to the sleeping figure.

  What have they done to you? She almost said it aloud. He looked old and broken, like a toy someone had discarded and then hid under a bright quilt. When she touched his hand, she flinched at the deep purple and black bruises on his raised veins.

  His eyes flickered open and a barely familiar smile lifted his sagging cheeks. “Tee.” She didn’t recognize the voice either. It rasped gray, like his face.

  Tricia knelt on the floor beside the arm of the chair and laid her cheek on her father’s hand. “I’m glad you’re home, Dad.” She felt his other hand tenderly smooth her hair back from her face. God! her soul raged at the heavens. What have you done to him? I thought you were making him better.

  “I’m just worn out from the treatment today and the trip home. Tomorrow I’ll be better, you’ll see,” he managed.

  Trish nodded. “I better get down and work those beasts.” She forced herself to drop a kiss on his head. “See you later.”

  Trish squared her shoulders and kept her stride steady as she left the room. The same iron control enabled her to change clothes and get out the door. The look she gave her mother could have slashed steel.

  “David!” She ignored Caesar trotting by her side. She ignored the nickered greetings from the horses. “David!” Her shout sent Spitfire drumming a heel against the wall. Trish ignored that too. She jogged the length of the stables to find David down in the yearling pasture. She paused a moment while he latched the gate in front of the two curious colts. Her shout, “David!” cut off his whistle mid-tune.

  “What’s wrong?” He strode up the lane, breaking into a trot at the expression on her face.

  “David Lee Evanston.”

  He stopped short.

  “What’d I do?”

  “You never told me.”

  David reached out and touched her arm. “You’ve seen Dad.”

  Trish nodded, her jaw set like a pit bull about to attack. “Why didn’t you and Mom tell me how bad he is?”

  “We tried. But you wouldn’t go see for yourself, remember? We tried to ease you into it. Why do you think Mom’s been with him all the time? Trish, for heaven’s sake, he has cancer and the doctors think he’s going to die.”

  “My dad’s not going to die.” Trish spun around. The tears she held back threatened to drown her. She fought the bitter bile rising from her stomach and burning her throat. In fact, burning was what she felt all over. Her brain, her heart, down to her toes. Like a forest fire out of control.

  “Tee.” David tried to stop her.

  “Don’t call me that.” Trish spun away and sprinted down the driveway, her pumping hands pummeling the horror of it all. Dad calls me Tee, and you say he’s dying. The thoughts were like flames licking up trees. He can’t be dying. No! God, you don’t love us. you don’t even care. You’re a liar. I hate you!

  Chapter

  12

  You’re in no condition to ride,” David said.

  Trish finished saddling Dan’l with the western saddle. She had run for an hour but the fire still flickered. “I’m just taking him down through the woods.” She leaned her forehead against the stirrup leathers. “David, just let me be. I promise I won’t be stupid with him.”

  “Okay.” He checked the girth. “I…Mom…we…”

  “Later, David.” She swung up into the saddle. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  Raged out, cried out, worn out, Trish felt empty, spent, exhausted. She put Dan’l away with barely a pat and forced her boots to carry her to the house.

  “Where’s Dad?” The quiet house seemed to require a whisper.

  “He’s in bed.” Marge looked at her daughter over the top of her magazine. “I’ll heat your dinner while you wash up.”

  “No thanks.” Trish looked around as if in a strange country, searching for a familiar landmark. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Glass of milk?”

  “No. I’ve got some studying to do. See you in the morning.” She closed the door softly after a peek at her father. No, he wasn’t better.

  When she came up from working Spitfire in the morning, her father was at his place at the breakfast table. While the plaid shirt he wore looked like it would fit his bigger brother, the smile he gave Trish was more like the father she knew.

  “You look like you lost your best friend.” The rasp was there but his voice was stronger.

  “You’re up.”

  “You’re right. Very observant for such an early hour.”

  Trish wasn’t sure whether to run and hug him or run outside and dance for joy. She opted for the hug.

  “We’re going to be all right,” he whispered in her ear, his weak arms using what strength they had to comfort her.

  Trish blinked back more tears. She didn’t know she had any left. “I gotta hurry.”

  “So what’s new?” He swatted her on the behind as she pulled away.

  “How’s the studying going?” Marge asked that evening after dinner.

  “Better.” Trish looked up from her chemistry book.

  Her mother frowned almost imperceptibly at the piles of clothes in her daughter’s room, then sat down on Trish’s bed. “Getting better grades in chemistry?”

  “Most of the time. It just doesn’t make a lot of sense to me.”

  “It’s one of David’s favorite classes.”

  “I guess that’s good, since he wants to be a vet.” Trish leaned back in her chair. She stretched her arms over her head and yawned.

  “How’s your back?” Marge cradled her coffee cup in her hands. “You aren’t limping anymore.”

  “No, the biggest bruise on my hip is more green than purple now. I’m sure glad—”

  “That you weren’t hurt worse?”

  Trish nodded, dreading the turn the conversation was taking. “Don’t worry so much, Mom,” she plead
ed. “It doesn’t do any of us any good.”

  “That’s easy for you to say.” Her mother sighed deeply. “But no matter how hard I try not to worry, it just doesn’t work for me. I close my eyes and I see you flying through the air or landing under some horse’s hooves. Trish, accidents do happen. You can’t deny it.” She rose and patted her daughter’s shoulder. “And you’re the only daughter I’ve got. I’d just as soon keep you around for a good long time.”

  “Oh, Mom.” Trish turned and wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist. She couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  On Saturday Hal rode in the car down to the stables so he could watch Trish work Gatesby and check on the horses that had recovered from the virus. Neither horse nor girl seemed to remember the falling accident as they broke clean from the gates and breezed the oval track twice, Firefly neck and neck with the bay colt.

  Trish waved at her father from the last circle of the track as she and David cooled the horses down.

  “I think what we’ll have to do is keep them here an extra week,” Hal said as the four leaned against the fender of the car in a post workout rehash. Brad, their faithful gateman, had arrived at ten. “We just can’t handle the trips back and forth to The Meadows in the morning.”

  “But will that give them time to get used to the track?”

  “It’s not the best plan, but in this case, we’ll have to take what we can get.” Hal started to cough and quickly popped a throat lozenge into his mouth. He wrapped both arms around his chest as if to hold himself together.

  “I’d better get back up to the house.” The rasp was worse as he fought the urge to cough. He climbed in the passenger side of the pickup. “Trish, want to drive me up? Let those two strong backs finish the stalls.”

  Trish hesitated an instant, resentment flaring briefly that he had to leave right when things seemed almost normal. “Sure.” She swung into the driver’s seat and turned the key.

  “Have you made any plans for your birthday?” her father asked as they headed back up to the house.

  “No. Not really. I wasn’t sure…well, you know…who’d be around.”

  “I know it’s been rough on you, Tee. I’d give anything if this weren’t so.” He sighed. “But it is. Rotten as it seems, we’re caught in the reality.”

  Talk about something else, Trish reasoned in her mind. Quick, think of something.

  “Uh-h-h, how do you think Gatesby looked?” She stammered in her panic to change the subject.

  “Good. You’ve done a good job with him.”

  “I still watch him real careful. He nips any chance he gets and spooks at anything….” Her voice trailed off as her father opened the passenger door.

  “Decide about where you want to go for your birthday dinner. We’ll take Brad and Rhonda if you like.”

  Trish nodded. “Okay.” What I’d like is for you to be healthy again! she wanted to shout at his stooped back. That’s all I want for my birthday, for Christmas, the Fourth of July. That’s all. God, do you hear me? That’s all I want.

  “By the way,” her father turned back before closing the door. “A Frank Carter called. Said he’d spoken with you about training some horses for him?”

  “Yeah, I said you’d call him back, but with all that’s gone on, I forgot to tell you.” Trish leaned her elbows on the steering wheel, dreading her father’s answer. “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him the truth. That I’ve been mighty sick and if he can find someone else, he should. Otherwise, call back in a month.”

  Trish nodded, a tiny smile tickling her cheeks. She nodded again. “Thanks.” At least he hadn’t said “No way.” Her lighter mood fluttered away like a moth on a breeze when she watched her father pause on each step, as if the effort to climb three steps was beyond him. He even leaned on the rail while digging in his pocket for a piece of candy.

  Trish forced the truck into gear and drove back down to the stables.

  Sunday morning the whole family went to church together for the first time in what seemed like months. Trish didn’t want to go.

  “You’re going to make us late,” her mother finally snapped. “We’ll wait for you in the car.”

  Trish threw her hairbrush down on the bathroom counter. “I’m coming!” One more honk made her grab her purse and stalk to the car. She paused to see her father sitting on the passenger side. Another change. Too many changes.

  She got through the service without really hearing one word. She was amazed at her powers of concentration. In her mind, she’d been at the track with Spitfire the entire time. So there, God. So much for worship.

  Guilt made her feel like Pastor Ron, their youth pastor, could read her mind as he greeted her after the service.

  “See you tonight?” he asked, looking from her to David. “We’re playing volleyball at six.”

  “I wish…” Trish looked at David and he was shaking his head too. “I have to spend every spare minute studying so I’ve time to work the horses.”

  “We miss you.” Ron squeezed her hand. “Take care.” He patted David’s shoulder. “Both of you.”

  “That mare is going to foal any time,” David said at the breakfast table on Wednesday morning. “I’ll bring her up to the maternity stall as soon as I take Trish to school.” He glanced at his watch. “You’re early, kid. What’d you do, turn over a new leaf for your sixteenth birthday?”

  “Yup.” Trish didn’t admit that the reason was because this was the time of day her father looked the best. After his radiation treatments in the morning, he looked bad again, and he was usually asleep when she came home from school. He said his throat was so sore, he had difficulty eating.

  “Did you invite Brad and Rhonda for dinner tonight?” her mother asked.

  Trish nodded, her mouth full of toast.

  “Where do you want to go? I’ll make reservations.”

  “I thought we could go to The Fish House. Their clam chowder is good.” Trish had thought about the Mexican restaurant, but it was noisy and the food too spicy for her dad. He wouldn’t be able to eat pizza or Chinese food either. “How does that sound?”

  “Sounds to me like we better hustle.” David jingled his car keys. “You want to drive?”

  As Trish eased the car out onto the road, she thought about her dad helping her drive lately and the fact that she hadn’t had time to practice more. I should be taking my driver’s test next week!

  Her friends sang “Happy Birthday” to her in the lunchroom. If looks could kill, Rhonda would have been diced meat. She ignored Trish’s red face as Doug Ramstead and a couple of other football players came over to claim a kiss.

  “I’ll get you,” Trish hissed, her cheeks hot. Sweet sixteen—how dumb can you get. But inside she felt warm, glad that her friends cared. They’d even brought her a cupcake with a candle and several small presents wrapped and tied with crimson ribbons.

  “You guys are awesome.” She ignored the tears brimming in her eyes. “Thanks.”

  “How long till you race?” Doug asked.

  “Seventeen days.” Trish swallowed at the thought. “We run two weeks from Saturday.”

  “We’ll be there.” Everyone nodded.

  “Just think, ‘Trish to win,’” one of the football players said. Someone else took up the chant. “Trish to win. Trish to win. Trish to win.” The words swelled around the room. Hands clapped. Feet stamped. Whistlers gave it all they had. The walls reverberated with the din.

  Brad and Doug hoisted Trish up on the table so she could be seen by all.

  Cheeks flaming, Trish waited for the cheers to die. “Thanks, guys.” Her voice rang true in spite of that familiar boulder. She grinned at another whistler. “You are totally awesome. Thanks.” She climbed down amid more cheers and whistles. She saw the teachers lined up against the wall. They hadn’t even tried to quiet the room down.

  “Even the teachers were clapping.” She shook her head in amazement as she and Rhonda joined the line at the t
ray window.

  “I know.” Rhonda dumped her milk carton in the trash. “We all want you to win. No one from Prairie has ever won a horserace before.”

  The rest of the day raced by. “See you at seven,” Trish tossed over her shoulder as she got out of the car.

  “What are you wearing?” Rhonda leaned forward on the seat.

  “Denim skirt, I guess. And that rust Shaker sweater.”

  “Okay. I’ll wear a skirt too.”

  “And I’ll wear…”

  “Shut up, Brad,” the two girls chorused and slapped their palms together in a high five.

  Trish whistled for Caesar as she ran up the walk. What a birthday.

  That night at the restaurant, Trish looked around at her family, light from the flickering hurricane lamps reflecting off their faces. She could even imagine her father the same as before in the dim light. Until he coughed.

  The six of them had been a family for all the years the kids were growing up. Brad and David, she and Rhonda—the four musketeers.

  Trish smelled the carnations in front of her. Both spicy and sweet—just like she felt at the moment.

  When the waitress brought a birthday cake with sixteen candles, she wasn’t surprised. Everyone sang “Happy Birthday” again and she blew hard, her wish the same as her prayers. Make my dad well.

  “Oh my!” Her eyes widened as she opened the first of several boxes stacked in front of her. “Racing silks.” She lifted the crimson and gold long-sleeved shirt from the tissue paper and held it up. Light glinted off the shiny fabric. She held the shirt to her face, feeling the coolness. “Thanks,” she breathed as she laid it back in the box on top of the white pants. She grinned at her father and mother. “They’re beautiful.”

  “Even the right color,” Rhonda said. “Open mine and Brad’s next.”

  “A new helmet! Thanks, guys.” She smiled and put the hard hat back in its box.

  “What do you think mine is?” David pointed at the long, slim package left in front of her.

  “You sure didn’t try to disguise it.” Trish lifted a new whip out of the box. “Thanks, David.”