Golden Filly Collection One

by Lauraine Snelling

  “I’m sorry that someone hit you, fella. I know you’re not used to the whip. You don’t need it. But who hit you? And why?”

  That was her question to her father that evening. “Why, Dad? Why would someone hit my horse? And who? Who would do such a mean thing? It’s illegal, too, isn’t it?”

  “Did you report it?”

  “No. I don’t know how. And it was such a mess out there, I…I just wanted to get home.” She leaned even closer to the roaring fire. She wasn’t sure she would ever feel warm again. On the outside anyway. Inside she was hotter than the snapping logs.

  “It’s just so unfair!” Sparks from the fire reflected in her eyes.

  “Trish, life isn’t fair. Racing isn’t fair. There will always be those who do underhanded things. Those who take advantage of others. Even to the point of cruelty. That’s part of racing. Part of any business.”

  “And that’s why I’d rather you weren’t racing.” Marge stepped into the room, handing her daughter a steaming cup of hot chocolate.

  “But, M-o-m.”

  “One of the horses went down, and it could easily have been you.” She raised her hand to stop Trish’s answer.

  “I know you’re a good rider. And I thank God you weren’t injured, that no one was seriously hurt. But accidents happen. And maliciousness. You felt it firsthand.” She turned back to the kitchen. “Dinner’ll be ready in about fifteen minutes. Set the table, please, Trish, as soon as you finish your chocolate.”

  Trish cupped the hot mug in her hands.

  “She’s right, you know,” her dad said.

  “I know, but…”

  “Tomorrow we’ll file a complaint, so you know how.”

  “That’s not all.” Trish swirled the remaining cocoa in her mug. “I got a C minus on my chemistry test.”

  “I’m sorry, Tee.”

  Not half as sorry as I am, Trish thought as she got up to set the table. I’m the one who has to tell those men I can’t ride. And that’s gonna shoot down my paycheck for next week.

  Trish enjoyed picking up her check each week from the head office at the track. Giving the money to her father made her feel like all the hours she put in made a difference for their family. No matter how much her father grumbled about her not keeping the money, she knew the bills were being paid. And that made his life easier.

  “I want to make Dad’s life easier, so he can get well, Father,” she prayed that night. “Thank you for the money, and for keeping me safe.” She snuggled down in the covers. “And please help me find out who whipped us today. Amen.”

  When Trish came up from working the horses in the morning, her mother had scrambled eggs with bacon ready to put on the table. She pulled a pan of bran muffins from the oven as Trish slid into her place.

  “Those guys were sure rarin’ to go this morning.” Trish rubbed her arms. “I feel like I did a hundred push-ups.”

  “How would you know?” David asked. “You’ve never done that many at one time.” He put his plateful of food down on the table. “Thanks, Mom. This smells great.”

  Trish stuck her tongue out at him. “Well, you work four horses and see how your arms feel.”

  Hal buttered a muffin. “What time do you have to be at the track?”

  “One or so. I ride in the third and fifth.”

  “Good. David, I want you to bring all the horses home today. I know that’s not the best, but it will be easier for you to have them all here. Plus we won’t have to pay the extra help at the track.”

  David nodded.

  “And, Tee, how about showing off that little filly of yours right after breakfast?”

  “Um-m-m.” Trish scrunched up her face. “I’ve got something I have to do first.”

  Surprise raised her father’s eyebrows. “Okay. Let me know when you’re ready.”

  Trish attacked her room with a vengeance. Some clothes ended up on hangers for the first time in days while others landed in the washing machine. The jumbled bed took on a completely new look when the bedspread was smoothed into place. And her desk—there really was a flat surface under all those papers.

  An hour later she folded her underwear and stacked it in the proper drawer. A quick swipe with the dustcloth and even the chest of drawers shone. “God, help me keep this up,” she prayed as she looked around the orderly room. “Even I can’t stand the mess anymore, let alone Mom.” She gathered a pile of shirts off the chair and headed for the laundry room. “I’m ready.” She turned the dial to start the last wash load.

  Miss Tee still spooked when someone else tried to approach her, but she came right up to Trish. The bright morning sun made her blink as Trish led the mare out of the barn and turned her loose in the paddock. When the mare snorted and rolled in the wet grass, the filly danced over to Trish and, hiding on the opposite side from Hal, rubbed her forehead against Trish’s arm. When she peeked around to keep that strange man in sight, Trish chuckled. Hal coughed. Miss Tee darted away, her hooves skimming the grass. She skidded to a stop behind the standing mare, then peeked out, her nose and ears visible through her mother’s tail.

  “She’s a beauty, all right.” Hal leaned against the fence, resting his elbows on the board rail. “But she should be with her bloodlines. Full sister to Spitfire. Only shame is her birthday. She’ll be barely three months old January first.”

  “Yeah, but legally she’ll be a year. It’s crazy that all Thoroughbreds are considered a year old on January first, no matter when they were dropped.” The filly tiptoed back to Trish. She reached around, tentatively sniffed Hal’s arm, and shook her head.

  Hal laughed. “Come on, Tee. We’ve got work to do.”

  Just for a moment, if she didn’t look at her father, Trish could pretend things were just as they used to be. But then he coughed again. He turned toward the house, his once-broad shoulders hunched against the chill of the morning, and his face slashed with new lines and gray like the fog.

  But at least he’s down here with you and not in the hospital, her nagger reminded. Don’t you ever take a nap? Trish snapped back, but then smiled at herself. She knew she needed to remember to be thankful.

  That afternoon she won both races. Both owners seemed as pleased as she was. The best part was that her father had watched from the special bleachers built by the barns for owners and trainers to observe morning workouts.

  Trish could feel her Irish temper flare when he told her what he’d heard. The jockey whose horse went down the day before had filed a complaint against Trish for knocking him down.

  “You can’t prove someone struck you,” Hal said when Trish fumed. “I told them what happened, but…”

  “No good.” Trish drew circles in the shavings with her booted toe. She chewed on her bottom lip. “At least my side is written down too, right?”

  Hal nodded.

  Trish was silent as they loaded Firefly and Dan’l. She checked Final Command’s legs before leading him into the trailer. At least he hadn’t been hurt in the accident.

  But it wasn’t an accident. She climbed into the truck cab beside her dad. We were slashed on purpose.

  The organ was playing her song when they entered the church sanctuary the next morning. Trish hummed along. Eagle’s wings. She sure needed them. She glanced at her father. So did he.

  After church she took her Bible and checked the concordance. Isaiah 40:31. She looked up the verse and wrote it down—twice—on two cards. “But those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.”

  Her father was sound asleep in his recliner. Trish slipped the card into the Bible lying on the end table by his chair. Picking up the quilt, she covered him gently. Wish you could come along, Dad. I need you there. And get better. I need you here. She felt the plea so powerfully, she was afraid she’d spoken out loud. Then Trish changed clothes and left for the track. She had three mounts ahead.

  A stiff breeze had
the flags on the infield snapping. That same western breeze trailed mare’s tails across the washed-out blue sky. While bringing in more wet weather, it had also helped dry the track.

  Trish took time with her first mount. She hadn’t ridden the mare before, but Rodgers had assured her the horse had every chance of being in the money. Still, she was a long shot on the boards.

  “Well, old girl, let’s go for the top. You’ll look good in those pictures.” Trish gathered her reins and settled her goggles in place. She needed a win as bad as the horse. Thoughts of the whip from the day before flitted into her mind as the gates closed, but she shut them out and concentrated on her mount.

  That concentration paid off—handsomely. The purse was a large one. But Jason Rodgers still handed her an envelope. “I can’t believe it,” he said after the pictures were taken. “You brought her in two lengths ahead of the favorite.”

  “She just wanted to run,” Trish laughed with him. “And I let her. Thanks for…for…” She touched her pocket.

  Rodgers nodded. “Tell your dad hello for me.”

  By the end of the sixth race, Trish was jubilant. Two wins, a second, and no whip. Surely yesterday had been a freak.

  Her good humor lasted until the family meeting that evening. Even though her mind knew she would be grounded for her chemistry grade, her heart kept hoping her parents would change their minds. They didn’t.

  If I hear “It’s for your own good” one more time, I…I… To not race was not for her own good, she was sure, and it would hurt the entire family. They needed her share of the purses.

  Calling Jason Rodgers and Bob Diego were two of the hardest things she’d ever had to do. “I’m sorry, I can’t ride for you during the week,” she said. To answer their why s she was tempted to blame her parents, but honesty won over. “I let my grades go down, but I can still ride Saturdays and Sundays.” She felt like slamming the receiver down but instead grabbed her jacket and slammed out the door.

  Caesar shoved his cold nose into her hand, but after no response, he trotted beside her down to the dark stables.

  “It’s just not fair,” she sobbed into Dan’l’s mane. “I’m trying my best and it just isn’t good enough. It’s not fair.”

  An hour later, all cried out, she slipped back into the house and crawled into bed. “God, you said you would help me. Where are you?”

  “It happened, didn’t it?” Rhonda didn’t need more than one look at Trish’s face to know. “Until when?”

  “My grade comes back up. And today we have the conference with Mrs. Smith.” Trish leaned against her locker. “You’d think all my good grades would count for something, but no. One crummy…I hate chemistry!”

  Trish felt like she was invisible as Mrs. Smith and her parents discussed her grades, her exhaustion, her future grades, and what she planned to do with her life. Nobody asked her.

  She swallowed a smart remark. When she shifted in her chair for the third time, her father turned his head and winked at her. A warm glow, like a hug, circled her heart.

  She caught herself just before a yawn. That’s all she needed. To fall asleep during the conference.

  “So, we’ll set up a conference with our counselor, Mrs. Olson, the principal, and Trish’s other teachers, if that’s all right?” Mrs. Smith asked.

  Trish jerked completely alert. Now what?

  At her parents’ nod, she continued. “Would tomorrow be possible?”

  “No.” Hal shook his head. “I have another treatment tomorrow. I won’t be in any shape for a meeting. How about Thursday?”

  Trish cleared her throat. “Will you need me there?”

  The three nodded.

  “I’ll call you then,” Mrs. Smith finished. “Thank you for coming.”

  The next afternoon Marge picked Trish up after school.

  “How’s Dad?” Trish asked as she slid behind the wheel.

  “Sleeping. The doctor gave him a new medication for the nausea, so he shouldn’t be so sick this time. He’s gained a couple of pounds—that was good news.”

  Trish tried to concentrate on her driving. Surely the driver’s test wasn’t much different than a horse race. Her butterflies didn’t need to try anything new. The old antics stirred her up enough.

  “You can do it.” Marge smiled through the open window after she’d slid out of the car.

  The uniformed instructor who took her place looked as if a smile might shatter his face. Maybe the frozen look is in for testing instructors. Trish swallowed…hard. Her left hand refused to leave the wheel when the man told her to test the turn signals. At his second gruff order, her hand finally obeyed.

  Trish relaxed as the driving got under way. She followed each instruction, but every time the man wrote something down, her butterflies did flips.

  “You did just fine,” he said when she parked the car back at the station. He handed her the sheet. A big red 90 stood out at the top. “Now go inside to line B to have your picture taken, and pay your fee.” He almost smiled. But not quite.

  Trish didn’t know if her feet were touching the ground or not. When she got back in the car, her grin told her success.

  “Congratulations, Trish. I’m proud of you.” Marge reached across the seat to hug her daughter. “How about a banana split to celebrate?”

  “You’re on!” She bounced on the seat and thumped the steering wheel. I should run around the block. I am s-o-o excited. Instead, she carefully checked both ways before pulling out on the street.

  As soon as they arrived home, Trish called Rhonda. “You are talking to a licensed driver,” she said with a haughty note. Rhonda’s squeal matched the one stuck about mid-throat for Trish. “Gotta run,” she cut the conversation short. “Have to work the beasts.”

  Her dad wasn’t in his recliner, but lay curled on his side in bed, asleep. The pan on the floor reminded Trish of how sick he could be. She tiptoed out without sharing her good news. This was life—since the cancer. Her dad wasn’t there to share her news, good or bad.

  Chapter

  12

  The weight bearing Trish down seemed even heavier on Wednesday. She hadn’t been able to concentrate the night before, so instead of acing her chemistry quiz, she flunked it. Even though the sun played hide-andseek with the scurrying clouds, she saw only gray. And rain.

  Dumping her book bag on the chair at her desk, she looked around her bedroom. It seemed strange to see uncluttered carpet, undraped chairs, and a made bed. At least one thing in her life was going right. Not training horses in the morning gave her the extra few minutes to put things away. Yeah, sure, she responded to her nagger. Be thankful for small favors.

  Downstairs, her father asked from his seemingly permanent place in the recliner, “You got a minute, Tee?”

  “Yeah,” Trish answered on her way to the kitchen. “Umm-mmm, smells good.” She sniffed the glorious aroma. “Wow, homemade rolls!”

  Marge had just lifted the pan from a plate of caramel-cinnamon rolls. Trish scooped a golden glob of the gooey concoction from the waxed paper. “Whoa! That’s hot!”

  Marge turned from the sink. “Pour some milk, and I’ll fix a plate of these for you and your dad. This should tempt his appetite.”

  “Does mine. Where’s David?”

  “Down at the barn, where else? He’s trying to get some training in for the yearlings. We think we have a buyer for one or two of them.”

  Trish caught her glass before it cracked on the counter. Selling the yearlings! Those are our investment for next year. She swallowed the words before they could burst forth. Setting the glasses of milk and plate of rolls on a tray, she carried them into the living room.

  “I know, Tee.” Hal had heard and knew she was upset. “But I don’t know what else to do.”

  “You could let me race more!”

  Hal closed his eyes. He shook his head. “I know, but…”

  “Don’t say it.”

  A tiny smile lifted the lines around his mouth. “All right
, I won’t, but even if you’re racing four days a week, you can’t always count on a win. We can’t depend completely on what you make.”

  “There’s the money from Anderson.”

  “I know. That helps with the feed bill.” He took a bite of the cinnamon roll. “Ah, now this is good. Your mother sure knows how to bake.”

  Trish huddled on the hearth. Today, even the glowing fire didn’t warm the chill of foreboding that seeped into her mind like fog tendrils in the pasture hollows when the sun goes down.

  “Trish, you can’t carry the weight for all of us.” He pulled her card out of his Bible. “Eagle’s wings,” he mused. “I’ve loved this verse for so many years. And when the pain’s been at its worst, this promise lifts me up. God does what He promises, Tee. He gives us new strength for each day, but He won’t take care of tomorrow until it comes. And we can’t either.”

  Trish nodded. “I guess so.”

  “I don’t just guess, I know.” Hal patted her hand. “Now, eat your roll before it’s cold.” He wiped his mouth. “And thanks for the card. Finding this promise has meant the world to me.”

  Trish sighed. She wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees. “It just seems crazy to keep me from racing when we need the money so badly.”

  “We need you more.”

  The phone rang. After a few minutes, Marge leaned around the door to the kitchen. “That was Mrs. Olson. Our meeting is being postponed until next Thursday.”

  Trish wasn’t sure if she was happy or sad about the change. “After all, I don’t even know what the meeting is really about,” she confided to Caesar as he loped beside her to the stables. A sharp bark assured her that he was listening. “I sure don’t need anyone yakking about my grades again, or making a big deal of my falling asleep in class.”

  “Hey, can you sleep over tomorrow night?” Trish asked Rhonda on the way to the cafeteria the next morning. “We’re trailering Firefly and Gatesby to the track right after school, then I need to gallop Spitfire and you could ride Final Command. I already asked my mom.”