When David got behind Gatesby to push, the horse lashed out with one rear hoof, barely missing David’s knee.
David muttered some words Trish knew he hadn’t learned at home.
Gatesby glared at Trish. He even pulled away when she stroked his neck and rubbed the spot behind his ear.
“I’m hooding him.” David stalked off to the tack room.
“You dummy.” Trish felt the urge to smack the stubborn horse with her whip. “You could use a whip right now, and we don’t even keep one down here at the barn.”
Gatesby shivered when David slipped the hood in place. He dropped his head and sighed, a deep sigh that melted all resistance, then followed his two leaders into the trailer.
Trish wisely kept her mouth shut. The look on David’s face matched the one she’d seen earlier on her father’s.
By the time they’d unloaded the horses and fed all the stock, darkness blanketed the landscape. A drizzle blew in on the evening wind. David decided to cut the workout, so Trish gave Dan’l an extra bit of rubbing attention before they unhitched the trailer and headed for home.
“I’m starved.” Trish stuffed her cold hands in her pockets. “Let’s stop at Mac’s for a burger.”
David obligingly took the roads to I-5 and stopped at the drivethrough window. With Coke and hamburger in hand, David completed the circular on-ramp back to the freeway. Traffic ground to a halt, and flashing signs overhead announced the raising of the bridge to allow a ship to pass up or down the Columbia River.
“Sorry.” Trish hid behind her Coke. The glare David cast her way was enough to melt the ice in her drink.
Maybe Dad’ll be asleep by the time we get home. Trish allowed that and other dreamy thoughts to occupy her mind. They were better than those of her nagger. She’d heard enough from him the last few days to last a lifetime.
Just tell the truth, and I’ll let… It was her nagger again, getting in his nickel’s worth. Trish tried to concentrate on Saturday’s race.
“Sure hope Gatesby settles down by tomorrow.” She slurped the last bit of soft drink.
“Hmm-mm.” David settled further down in the seat. He finished his food and thrummed his fingers on the steering wheel.
Trish jabbed her straw to the swish of the windshield wipers. All she could think about was the confrontation ahead.
David grabbed the container out of her hand. “For pete’s sake…”
“Sor-ry.”
Traffic began moving again.
“David?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you think they’re gonna do?”
“Mom and Dad? I don’t know. They’re both hurt and mad.”
“And disappointed.”
“Yeah.”
Trish chewed on her lip. “What do you think I should do?”
“Just get it over with. You want to be treated like an adult, here’s your chance to act like one.”
Trish settled lower in the seat.
When she arrived home, Caesar greeted her, then followed David to the barn, where he’d finish the evening chores. The fire crackling in the fireplace was warm and inviting when Trish opened the sliding glass door. The fish tank bubbled comfortingly in the corner. She pulled off her boots at the jack and shrugged out of her jacket. She could see her father lying in the recliner, his eyes closed. Her mother’s rocking chair sang its familiar creaky tune.
Trish took a deep breath.
“There’s dinner in the oven.” Marge didn’t look up from her knitting.
“Thanks. I’m not hungry.” Trish crossed the room to sit on the fieldstone hearth. “Is Dad…”
“I’m awake, Tee. Just start at the beginning.”
“Well, last Sunday Mr. Rodgers asked me to ride for him on Wednesday. I told him yes before I even thought because I was so happy to be asked. Then I…” Trish told everything she could think of, including her load of guilt. “And I’m sorry for lying—not telling you all the truth. But, Dad, I know how bad we need the money.” She studied her hands hanging between her knees. Neither of her parents had said a word the entire time.
When she sneaked a look at her mother, Trish could see the still-tight jaw. Her knitting needles seemed to jab into the yarn.
“Well…why don’t you holler at me—anything. Say something!” She dropped to her knees beside her father’s chair. “Please, Dad, I’m so sorry.” The tears came, silently dripping onto her hands that clenched the recliner arm.
Her father lifted a hand and stroked her bent head. “Trish, this hasn’t been easy for any of us. But we’ve trusted you kids to be honest with us. You broke that trust.”
“But I…I…” Trish tried to talk around the tears.
“I know. You did the best you could. And you did a good job, but the bottom line is you did something you knew was wrong. Honey, it’s not your job to take care of this family. We’ve always trusted God to provide and He has. He will. Trish, you should have come to us first.”
“But I was…” Trish paused to swallow. She dropped her head further. “I was afraid you’d say no.”
“And I would have. Trish, when will you learn that we only want what’s best for you?” Marge dropped her knitting in her lap. “You’re exhausted. Your grades are suffering. You’ve been snappy. And accidents happen when people are too tired.”
“Mom, I’ve been trying my best.”
“I know.”
David came in and sank down on the sofa.
“What if I promise never to do anything like this again? If I swear to always come to you first? Dad? Mom? I can’t handle the guilt.”
Hal nodded as he brought his recliner upright. “I know, Trish. That’s why God gave us Jesus. To rid us of the guilt and teach us forgiveness.”
Marge made a little sound in her throat.
“I know how hard you all have been working. And I’ll never be able to tell you how grateful I am—we are.” Hal included Marge, smiling at her. “I wish I could say things will get better soon.” He shook his head. “But I can’t.” He stopped to swallow and lick his lips. With one weary hand he rubbed the creases in his forehead.
Trish felt the tears stinging again. One trickled down her cheek to match the one on her father’s.
The fire snapped in the fireplace. David sniffed and got up for a tissue.
Hal blinked, then sighed.
It seemed to Trish that the weight of despair crushed her father further into his chair. She took hold of his hand and raised it to her cheek, wishing and praying that her strength would help him. Could help him.
“We’ll just have to continue to take one step at a time. You’re right, Trish. Money is a big problem. We have no health insurance and the hospital bills have already wiped out most of our savings.”
Trish leaped up and dashed to the closet for her jacket. “Here.” She dropped the envelopes into her father’s lap. “And I’m not sure how much my check will be for the races. Over a couple thousand dollars, I think. It’ll help, Dad.”
Hal smiled as he read the note. “My good friends.” He smoothed the bills and handed Marge the note. “Trish, this should be your money, but thanks.”
Marge smiled over the note, then raised her head to smile at Trish. “I hate to take your money too.” She shook her head. “But…well…thank you, Tee.”
Trish felt a warm glow spreading through her midsection.
“I have thought of getting a job myself,” Marge said after rereading the note. “But I’m not really trained for anything. However, Trish, you simply cannot miss school to race.” Her mother’s tone allowed no argument. “I know you can make the best money—if you win—but school has to come first. The minute your grades fall, weekday racing goes.”
Trish drew a deep breath. They weren’t going to make her quit riding for other farms!
Marge continued. “We’ve given you a lot of freedom in the past, but now we’ll want a complete report every Sunday evening. We’ll sit down for a family meeting and talk about
the past week and what’s coming up. There will be no more half-truths; we must know what’s going on around here.”
Hal nodded. “Your mother’s right. We have to be able to trust each other. And we can’t afford to have anyone else sick around here. I know how important it is for me not to worry too. We all have to believe that God knows what He’s doing. He’s always taken care of us in the past, and now is no exception. He will provide, but we have to work together.” He looked intently at each member of the family.
Trish felt her eyes fill again. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded.
Hal let his hands fall at his sides and resettled himself in the chair. “Now, Trish, how many mounts do you have for tomorrow?”
Chapter
09
Trish crawled into bed that night with her father’s “I forgive you, Tee” ringing in her ears. She could also see her mother’s face, the grim line about her mouth. Family meetings every week. No more fibbing about how school was going. Total honesty—or pay the consequences. She knew there would be no more stretching the boundaries. Besides, she’d learned that cheating of any kind hurt too badly. Not only herself—but her whole family.
“Thank you, heavenly Father, for bringing Dad home again. And for helping to clean up the mess I made. God, please make my Dad well again. And help me to win tomorrow. Amen.” She thumped her pillow and turned over. Morning would be here before she had half enough sleep. A brief snatch of song drifted through her mind, “Raise you up on eagle’s wings.” She smiled her way to dreamland.
Hal sat with a cup of coffee cradled in his hands at the breakfast table the next morning. His smile made Trish think the sun had broken through the heavy overcast. Her mother humming in the kitchen, bacon sizzling in the pan, David singing off-key in the shower; all seemed normal—like life was supposed to be at Runnin’ On Farm.
She hugged her dad, squeezed her mom around the waist, and slid into her chair. Her grin felt like it might crack her face. “Waffles!” The grin got wider. “Thanks, Mom.” Crispy golden waffles were joined by two strips of bacon and an egg, easy-over, just the way she liked it. Trish buttered her waffles and poured the syrup.
“You could say grace first.” Her father smiled.
Trish grinned back at him and silently bowed her head. All she could say was Thank you, thank you, thank you.
“See you at the track.” Her father hugged her before she picked up her bag and boots. David honked the horn. “In the winner’s circle.”
“Be careful,” her mother added with a hug. Worry lines still creased her forehead.
“Sure, Mom. And thanks for the good breakfast.” When Trish glanced back, Marge had leaned into the protective circle of Hal’s arm. Trish suppressed the wish that her father could come along, and hung her silks behind the seat. “Let’s go,” she said, slamming the pickup door.
Trish could see the outline of the sun through the clouds as she trudged the path to the dressing room. Horses for the first race of the day were being led to the saddling paddock. Her mom and dad hadn’t shown up at the track yet, but she, David, and Brad had Spitfire and Gatesby in prime form. After the ruckus he’d caused the evening before, Gatesby had clowned around, tossing David’s hat, dribbling water on Trish’s back when she tried to pick his hooves. Trish smiled at the memory.
“You look happy.” Genie Stokes caught up with her.
“I am. Dad says he’ll be here today.” Trish grinned at the other jockey. “How’s your shoulder?”
“Stiffens up some.” Genie swung her arm in an arc. “But the pain is gone. That Spitfire sure didn’t like having someone else on his back.”
“Sorry.”
“Hey, it’s not your fault. By the way, you heard what they’re saying about you?”
“No. Who?”
“Oh, here and there. They say either you’re luckier’n anyone or you just talk those horses into winning. Not too often someone comes along with that special touch, but I think you got it.”
“I…I just do what seems best.” Trish shifted her bag to her other hand. “Are the other jockeys…?”
“Well, there’s some griping. You know how people can be—but most everyone is glad for you. They know about your dad and all.”
Trish slowed as they reached the slanted concrete tunnel to the dressing rooms. “Thanks, Genie. You’ve helped me a lot.”
“Just repaying the favor. You know your dad has helped plenty of people around this track. Both with advice and money when times are tough. Me included. He’s a good man.”
Trish felt a glow of pride. She’d always known her dad was the best. Genie’s words just proved it. “Thanks.”
At the whiff of dressing room, her butterflies woke up and began their warm-up routine just like the one she was about to perform. Trish had forgotten to appreciate their long nap. They’d even slept through a waffle breakfast. What a day!
Spitfire nickered when he saw Trish waiting in the saddling stall. He seemed to dance on the tips of his hooves as he followed David. Head up, ears pricked, he caught the attention of the railbirds, those watching the saddling process. At their oohs and aahs, he lifted his nose higher, like a movie star with fans.
“You silly.” Trish laughed as David tied the slipknot in the stall. “You think everyone came just to see you.”
Spitfire nodded. He shoved his nose against her chest and snuffled her pockets. Trish held out both fists. When he licked the right one, she gave him the hidden carrot.
“I dare you to do that with Gatesby.” David fastened the saddle girth.
“Sure. And lose my hand. How could I ride then?” Trish smoothed Spitfire’s forelock. When he begged for another carrot, she laughed and pushed his persistent nose away. “After you win.” She looked him straight in the eye. “Now give it all you’ve got, Spitfire. We need the money.”
David boosted her into the saddle. “Watch that far turn. It seemed wet.” He patted her knee. “You can do it.”
“Did you see Mom and Dad?”
“They’re up in the box.” David backed Spitfire out and handed the lead shank to Brad mounted on Dan’l. He patted Spitfire on the rump. “Go get ’em.”
As the bugle blew parade, Spitfire danced to the side of the gray. He flung his head up at the flags snapping in the breeze. When the crowd roared, he turned his head, accepting their accolades.
“Should have named you Prince or King.” Trish laughed in sheer joy. “Or maybe Ham.”
Brad laughed with her as he released the lead. “Ham he is. See you in the circle.”
At the post position, Spitfire settled for the break. Within three lengths after the shot, he was running easily at the head of the field. No other horse even came near him. Trish felt like they were out for a private gallop. She heard the announcer call Genie Stokes as rider of the secondplace finisher.
“Congratulations,” Trish called as they cantered their horses back to the circle.
Genie stopped her mount. “Did he even go all out?” She pointed her whip at Spitfire.
“I don’t think so. But he sure had fun.” Trish smoothed Spitfire’s mane. “He wasn’t too happy about quitting.”
“You might be thinking first Saturday in May.” Genie grinned. “He’s some horse, even if he doesn’t like any other riders.”
Trish felt a tingle go up her spine and then race down again. The first Saturday in May. Kentucky Derby Day. While she and her dad had dreamed about it, someone else mentioning it made the dream more of a reality.
She slipped from her horse’s back and removed the saddle. Standing between her father and David with Spitfire’s head over her shoulder felt right. This was where they all belonged—in the winner’s circle.
“Congratulations, Tee.” Her father kissed her cheek. Spitfire nudged Hal away, as if he were jealous. Laughter from the crowd, another popping flash, and then Trish got on the scale. She could get to like this.
Trish changed silks, weighed in again, and joined Davi
d and Gatesby for the next race. “What’d you feed these guys today?” she asked after the colt tried to pick the silk covering off her helmet. When she scolded him, the horse gave her his Who—me? look.
“They’re sure full of spunk today. Leading him over here was tougher than an hour on the weights. And that was with Brad on the other lead. All you’ll have to do is point him in the right direction and hang on today.”
“Thank you for making my job sound so simple.” Trish thumped her brother on the head with her whip. “Is Anderson here?”
“Up in the box. He came by the stable, but says you know Gatesby better than he does. So just do your best. Dad says since you’re on the outside, stay there. And he’ll see you in the circle again. He said to tell you this could get to be a habit. A nice habit.”
“Yep.” Trish gathered her reins as David led them out. Gatesby didn’t think he should wait until the end of the line. All those horses in front of him and…
“Knock it off, you big goof.” Trish pulled him back to a walk. When he crowhopped, Brad jerked on the rope. Trish snugged the reins down until Gatesby’s chin met his chest. Even then, he pranced sideways instead of walking.
“How’re your arms?” David released the lead.
Trish laughed. “See ya.”
“In the circle.”
Gatesby walked into the gate flat-footed and settled for the break, all business now that the time was at hand. When the gates clanged open, he erupted, running flat out within four strides. Trish kept him on the outside, letting the field spread itself. Gatesby pulled on the bit, running smoothly, his concentration focused on the horses ahead of him.
As they passed the halfway pole, Trish gave him more rein. He passed the third-place runner, caught the second, and reached for the first as they entered the final stretch.
“Now, go for it!” Trish commanded. “Come on, Gatesby!”
“And the winner by a nose, number seven, Gatesby, owned by John Anderson and ridden by Tricia Evanston.” The announcer confirmed what Trish already knew. She had won again. And Gatesby had lived up to her expectations. “Good boy! You were great.”
Golden Filly Collection One Page 19
