Golden Filly Collection One

by Lauraine Snelling

  Her whip hit his haunches as the gate swung open. Dandy bolted forward, his ears laid back. “Sorry, fella, but that’s the way it goes.” Trish leaned forward, her goggles brushing his mane. “Come on now!” Dandy settled into an ever-lengthening stride. As they rounded the first turn, Trish encouraged him again, this time taking him to the rail, just behind the front runner. When a horse came up on their right, Dandy lengthened his stride again. And kept his position.

  The far turn found the field bunched behind them. When Dandy slowed a bit, Trish tapped him with the whip again, her voice commanding in his ears, “Come on, Dandy, give it all you’ve got.” He laid his ears back again and drove down on the front runner.

  They finished second, by half a body length.

  “Wow-ee!” Trish felt like throwing her whip in the air and screaming for joy. They hadn’t won, but Dandy’d been tagged as last in the field. What a long shot.

  “Incredible.” Jason Rodgers shook her hand. “He’s never run like that. How about riding for me Wednesday? If you can get Dandy to run like that, I’d like you on my other horses too.” He handed her an envelope.

  “Thank you, and I’d love to.” Trish shook his offered hand. “What race?”

  “How about the third and the seventh?”

  Trish stopped in her tracks. The third? School wouldn’t be out yet. “Sorry.” She shook her head. “I could do the seventh but I’m not out of school till after three.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll see you then.”

  But what’s your mother going to say when she hears this? her innernagger gloated.

  Chapter

  04

  You’re awfully quiet.” David steered the truck into the hospital parking lot.

  Trish’s sigh originated somewhere down about her toes. She’d agreed to ride for Rodgers before she had asked her parents. And her mom was upset over today’s ride. What would she say about riding Wednesday? But I won’t be missing any school. At least I thought of that. She tried to make things all right in her mind before she needed to explain to anyone else, but it wasn’t easy. In fact, she knew she was in the wrong. Again.

  “It’s nothing, really,” she answered David with a shrug. “Just tired, I guess.”

  The hospital corridors seemed to close in on her as she and David left the elevator. While she tried to walk quietly, her booted heels tapped out echoes to match those marching in her mind. You better get a smile on, she ordered herself. You’re a winner, remember?

  “Hi, Dad, Mom.” Trish leaned over the bed to give her dad a hug. “You look better than yesterday.”

  “Sorry we didn’t make it to the track.” Hal pressed the button to raise his head, then shifted to a comfortable position against the pillows.

  “The doctor gave him a choice of going home a day earlier or going to the track today,” Marge explained.

  “And I need to get out of here.” Hal patted the bed beside him. “Congratulations, Tee. Sounds like you and Firefly ran some race.”

  “She was having fun out there.” Trish gave a little bounce. “You should have seen her. That horse loves the crowd—you’d think all the applause was for her. And now that she knows how much attention she gets for winning…well, just try to keep her back.”

  “And we’d counted so hard on Spitfire. Now we have two winners. That’s wonderful!” Hal took a sip of water to soothe his throat. “How’d you do with Rodgers’ horse?”

  “A second. Mr. Rodgers could hardly believe it. And he gave me this, besides what I’ll get as part of the purse.” She handed her father the envelope. “Every little bit will help with the entry fees.”

  “No, Trish. That’s your money. You earned it, you bank it.”

  “But, Dad.”

  “No, I mean it. We’ve never expected you kids to help with the bills and we won’t start now.”

  But this is different, Trish thought. You’ve never been sick before and you’ve always had so many horses to train, you’ve turned some away. Now we only have Anderson’s two. She glanced over at her mother but, seeing the frown on her face, wisely left it at that.

  After some casual banter about other things, Marge finally asked, “Have you kids eaten yet?”

  “No, but we’ll fix something at home.” David rose from his chair. “We’ve got the chores to do.”

  “Where’s Brad?”

  “He had to do something with his mom and dad tonight, so we’re it.”

  “How much homework do you have?” Marge turned to Trish.

  “Not much.” Trish rolled her lips together. She wasn’t lying, exactly. It all depended on how you defined much.

  “Well, David, you do the chores so Trish can study.”

  “Why doesn’t he do my chemistry and I’ll feed the mares.” Trish knew she’d made a mistake the minute the careless words were out of her mouth. “Just a joke.” She backtracked as fast as she could. “Come on, Mom. Just a joke.”

  “When will you learn?” David asked as they walked back down the hall after their good-byes.

  Trish just shook her head. And he didn’t know the half of it.

  Trish fixed tuna fish sandwiches when they got home. She took hers into her bedroom and, after changing clothes, sat down at her desk. The glow from the desk lamp pooled on her chemistry book and the paper with only two problems done. She’d better hit it hard.

  Two hours later she rose and stretched. Chemistry caught up. Spanish reviewed. Only one composition to go—and that only two pages. But her eyes felt like someone had thrown a handful of sand in them.

  She thought longingly of a hot bath as she stumbled to the kitchen for something to drink. David was sprawled on the sofa, dead to the world, while the TV flickered in the corner.

  “Hey, why don’t you sleep in bed.” Trish prodded his shoulder.

  “Um-m-m.” David didn’t even open his eyes. “Just waiting for Mom.”

  Car lights flashed in the window as Trish poured herself a glass of milk. She felt like sprinting down the hall and hiding in her room.

  Marge hung her coat in the closet. “Hi, kids. Any messages?”

  “Forgot to check.” Trish looked at the answering machine. “It’s flashing. I gotta finish a paper.” She left her mother to deal with the machine and headed back to her books.

  Another hour, and she slipped her recopied paper into her notebook. What a way to end a winning day; all her homework caught up. Except reviewing history—but the test wasn’t until Tuesday, she reasoned. No more studying tonight. Her bed was calling.

  “ ’Night, Mom.” Trish took her plate and glass back to the kitchen. Marge was still on the phone.

  Trish slung her jeans and sweat shirt over the chair. She planned on putting them on again in the morning, so why hang them up? She’d just turned out the light when Marge tapped at the door.

  “Trish?”

  “Yeah, I’m awake.” Here it comes, Trish thought. And what do I do about Wednesday?

  Marge turned the lamp back on. She started to sit down in the desk chair but frowned at the clothes draped across the back. Instead she sat at the foot of Trish’s bed.

  “Your father and I’ve been talking….”

  I’ll just bet, Trish thought as she folded her arms behind her head.

  “You know how much I hate your racing at the track.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But I agreed to go along with what your father said. You could race our horses.”

  “But, Mom…”

  “No, let me finish.” Marge paused, as if searching for the right words. “Trish, I don’t want you racing for other stables. You don’t know those horses and you haven’t had a lot of experience yet.”

  “But that’s how I’d get more experience.” Trish couldn’t keep her mouth closed.

  “You’re only sixteen. You don’t need more experience racing; you need time for school. Your studies have to come first.”

  “But, Mom.” Trish sat up and hugged her knees. “Racing is all I want
to do, and I’m doing okay in school too.”

  “Okay isn’t good enough. You are too bright to waste your brain riding horses. You can pull straight A’s when you work at it.”

  All Trish heard was “waste.” “What do you mean waste? You think Dad wastes his time training horses? That’s our business, Mom, and his dream. We’ve always talked about when I could jockey for our horses. And now all you want is for me to go to school. Other kids go out for sports—mine is just a different one.” Trish could hear her voice getting louder. She knew she should calm down, but she couldn’t. “And besides, I made good money today.”

  “Trish, let me finish.”

  “Why bother? All you do is try to take away the thing I love most.” Trish turned her head, struggling to keep the tears back.

  “Listen to me, I was trying to explain…” her mother went on. “I didn’t want you racing at all, but I went along with our horses. Your father said you can race for other farms, but you have to talk it over with him. That’s not my idea, but he is your father.” The deep furrows creased her forehead. She spit the words out as if she were holding something back. “No matter how hard I try to talk sensibly with you, you get upset.”

  “I didn’t start this.” Trish thumped back on her pillow. “Racing is not a waste!”

  “That’s enough!”

  “No! If I got a job at the Burger Palace, you’d think that was okay. But I made more money in one race…than…than…” Trish couldn’t think far enough. “And you call it a waste. We need the money. You know that.”

  “That’s enough. If you can’t talk to me without yelling…”

  Look who’s talking, Trish corralled her thoughts. Just leave me alone. She glared at her mother through tear-filled eyes.

  Marge stood to leave. “Genie Stokes will be working all the horses at the track in the morning. David will do the chores both here and at The Meadows. And you will go to school…on time for a change.” The click of the closing door sounded like a gunshot in the stillness.

  Great. Trish rolled on her side and pulled the covers up. I’m the only one who’s ever ridden Spitfire. Let ’em find out the hard way. I am going to ride.

  But what about Wednesday? her little voice asked.

  She shrugged off the thought and drifted to sleep. When she awoke in the morning, Trish realized her dreams hadn’t been pleasant ones. She felt like she’d been in a battle all night. What would she do about Wednesday? How would she get to the track? She’d given her word to Mr. Rodgers. She wouldn’t be missing any school. But she didn’t have her parents’ permission. What would they do when they found out? They really needed the money; she knew the bills were stacking up. But her mother didn’t want her racing at all. Let alone for another stable—and on a weekday.

  The arguments chasing each other around her brain made her want to go back to bed and pull the covers over her head.

  SHE HATED FIGHTING!

  So, she needed to apologize to her mother and ask for forgiveness. That was just as bad. The thoughts were a flock of scavenger crows tearing her peace of mind to pieces.

  “I’ll drop you off at school on my way to the track.” David joined the family at the breakfast table. For a change Trish wasn’t grabbing peanut butter toast on the run.

  “I’ll be ready in five minutes.” She set her cereal bowl in the sink, then went back to the table, where Marge sat drinking a cup of coffee. “Mom, I’m sorry I yelled at you last night. I…”

  “Me too.” Marge drew her daughter into the circle of her arm and hugged her. “Have a good day. And, Trish, I am proud of you.”

  “Thanks, Mom. Give Dad a hug for me. When do you think he’ll be home?”

  “Probably Wednesday afternoon.”

  “Oh.” Trish nodded. The hand of fear grabbing her throat kept her from saying anything else. “Gotta run. See ya.”

  What was she going to do? Halfway to school she turned to David. “I need a favor, big brother.”

  “What now? More chemistry?”

  “No. I need a ride to the track on Wednesday right after school.”

  “What for?”

  “To ride for Rodgers. He asked me on Sunday after he was so pleased with the race. He wanted me to ride twice but one was during school. This one’s about four.”

  “Have you asked Mom and Dad?”

  “No. But we need the money.”

  David shook his head. “Trish, I won’t lie for you.”

  “It’s not exactly a lie…just not telling them everything.”

  David shot her one of his big-brother looks. “You better call Rodgers and tell him you can’t.”

  “Thanks for nothing.” Trish opened the door when the pickup stopped at the curb. “You’re all heart.”

  Now what do I do? she thought as she crossed the wide sidewalk to the school entrance.

  Shock stopped her dead in her tracks as she stepped through the doorway. A computer banner, the block letters filled in with crimson and gold, said “Way to go, Trish. On to the Derby.” The banner stretched from post to post. Another sign hid half the trophy case.

  All the way to her locker, students congratulated her. Even the principal said congratulations when he passed her in the hall. Another sign, this one announcing “#1 Jockey,” taped her locker closed.

  Rhonda leaned against her own locker. “So, what do you think?”

  Trish just shook her head. “You guys are awesome.” She carefully removed the taped sign so she could get into her locker, and folded it to save. “You must have spent all night on this stuff.”

  “I had lots of help. In fact, it was Doug’s idea.”

  Trish blinked. “Come on.”

  Rhonda nodded. “Yup.” She leaned real close. “I think he likes you.”

  The funny glow in Trish’s middle stayed through the day. So many kids stopped by their table at lunchtime that Brad threatened to eat somewhere else—in peace. And when Trish aced a chemistry quiz, she felt like she’d used her eagle’s wings to top a mountain.

  When the final bell rang, she took the sign from the shelf in her locker, grabbed the books she needed, and headed for Brad’s Mustang.

  The Runnin’ On Farm pickup was parked at the curb, motor idling. David pushed open the door. “Hustle, Trish. There’s trouble at the track.”

  Chapter

  05

  What happened?” Trish tossed her books in the cab.

  “Spitfire threw Genie. He’s gone crazy. Won’t even let me near him.”

  “Is he hurt?” Trish slammed the door behind her.

  “No! Just nuts!”

  “Where is he?”

  “We got him back in his stall. But he still has the bridle and saddle on. I dropped Genie off at the hospital to have her shoulder X-rayed. She’s hurting pretty bad.”

  “Have you talked to Dad yet?”

  “Yeah.” David cruised through a yellow light. “He said to get you, and get that crazy horse home tonight if we can. Who knows when Genie can ride again.”

  Trish shook her head. “You better slow down. A ticket isn’t going to help us any.”

  David let up on the gas but shot her a dirty look.

  “Hey, it’s not my fault. If they’d just let me work the horses like we’re all used to, things would be fine.”

  “Yeah, and if Dad wasn’t sick, I’d be in Pullman and not worrying about all this…this stuff. I’m not a trainer. How’re we gonna load him?”

  “Spitfire’ll behave for me.” Trish chewed on the inside of her cheek.

  “You better hope so. You didn’t see him go crazy like I did.”

  “Let’s bring Gatesby home too,” Trish continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “Dad’ll know of someone else to work the other two. They’re easy to manage.”

  Trish leaped from the truck as soon as it stopped at the racing stables.

  “Be careful, Trish,” David hollered after her as she sprinted to Spitfire’s stall. Both halves of the door were closed. A rapid tatoo
of hooves on the wall and a high-pitched scream left no doubt that Spitfire hadn’t forgotten the incident.

  “Hey, fella, easy now. You know better than to act like this.” Trish slid back the bolt on the top half of the door. A hoof slammed against the wall again. “Come on, Spitfire. This is me. I’m gonna open the door and let some light in.” Trish followed her words with actions. Spitfire whinnied, but the sound was more greeting than anger.

  As the light hit him, he tossed his head, ears laid flat. The bit jangled. His nostrils flared so wide they glowed red in the dimness. The whites of his eyes glimmered against his black hide.

  “You’ve really made a mess of things, haven’t you?” Trish leaned on the stall door. She kept her tone low and her body relaxed, as if nothing were wrong.

  Spitfire exhaled, the whuffle sound blowing through his lips. He shook his head, his forelock brushing from side to side. After an all-over shake that set the stirrups clapping against his sides, his ears pricked forward. The colt stretched to sniff Trish’s proffered hand and blew again, as if letting out all the tension. Finally he stepped forward to drape his head over Trish’s shoulder.

  “Good boy.” Trish rubbed behind his ears and down the arched neck. Dried lather and sweat crusted his fine black coat. A raw spot on his lower lip from fighting the bit hadn’t had time to scab over. Spitfire trembled when Trish opened the lower door and stepped inside the stall. “Let’s get this bridle off.” She worked as she talked and slipped the web halter back over his nose. As soon as the colt was cross-tied, she checked his legs for swelling.

  “Want some help?” David asked from the door.

  Spitfire laid back his ears and stamped one forefoot.

  “No, let me get him cleaned up and calmed down. Then we’ll see. How’re the others?” Trish removed the saddle and slung it over the stall door.

  “Gatesby missed me today but bit Genie a good one, so he’s about normal. Genie worked all three of them before she and Spitfire got into it.”

  As David and Trish talked, she could feel Spitfire relaxing. She brushed while she spoke, finishing one side and moving around to the other.