Golden Filly Collection One

by Lauraine Snelling

  After dinner that evening they finished decorating the noble fir that David and Marge had bought. When they placed the angel on the treetop, it nearly touched the slanted pineboard ceiling. A fire crackled in the fireplace; fat, red winterberry-scented candles flickered on the broad mantel, and Christmas carols drifted from the stereo.

  “Needs something more on the left side,” Hal pointed from his recliner. Marge attached a shimmery red bell and a revolving star to the branches he suggested and stepped back to inspect her handiwork. All the ornaments they’d collected through the years twinkled in their own special places.

  Trish hung the last of the crocheted and starched snowflakes, then sank down, her legs crossed, in the middle of the floor. She propped her elbows on her knees and her chin on her fists, the better to gaze at the tree. Each year the ritual was the same, and she loved every minute of it. She glanced over at the manger scene displayed on a low table to the side of the front window. When the tree lights went on, the star of Bethlehem above the stable would light up too.

  Marge settled onto the arm of Hal’s recliner. “Okay, David, turn them on.”

  For an instant Trish held her breath, then let it out as the twelve-foot tree shimmered into glory. “Oh-h-h, isn’t it beautiful?” She felt the old, familiar tightening in her throat. All the colors, the special ornaments, the lights both twinkling on the tree and reflected in the window, all of the pieces came together to make each tree they’d had the most beautiful ever. She swallowed around the lump as she looked at her father. And most important, the family was all together.

  Hal cleared his throat. “That’s got to be the most perfect tree we’ve ever had.”

  “That’s Mom’s line,” David said.

  “Then I’ll say it too,” Marge replied softly. “Truly, this is our most beautiful tree ever.” She laid her cheek on the top of Hal’s head.

  That night in bed Trish thought about their gathering around the tree. We were all a bit weepy, she thought. But that’s okay. Tomorrow night I’ll put my presents under the tree. She chuckled to herself. And I’m not going to put name tags on them so no one can guess which is theirs. She thought of the beautiful eagle wrapped in silver paper and a royal blue ribbon. Dad’ll never guess this time!

  With Christmas break only a week away, Trish burned the midnight oil to finish her two papers.

  “Trish, it’s after two o’clock,” Marge said one night.

  “I know, but I’m nearly done.”

  Marge frowned as she shook her head. “You know if you weren’t riding so much, you’d have time for your studies. How many times have we reminded you that school has to come first?”

  Trish gritted her teeth. “In case you haven’t noticed, Mom, I didn’t ride after school this week. I spent my extra time at the library.”

  “Well, you just can’t leave things to the last minute like this.”

  “Right.” Trish leaned back in her chair. She clamped her lips on the rest of the things she’d like to say. “Good night, Mom. These go in tomorrow, on time.”

  “I’ll just have to make it up over vacation,” she told Rhonda one evening on the phone. “Just think, I’ll be able to ride the entire weekday programs, not just a couple of races after school. That way I can get my bank account back up.”

  “And since Christmas is on Monday, we can go shopping on Tuesday because you don’t have racing that day. Maybe that jacket’ll still be there.”

  Trish stretched as she hung up the phone. This was going to be a fantastic vacation! And tomorrow morning she’d be able to ride Spitfire around the track, even if it was only at a walk. His leg hadn’t been warm for two days now.

  “Can you help me with some more baking tomorrow?” Marge asked as Trish poured herself a glass of milk.

  “Yep. I’ll get the morning workouts done early, and I don’t have to be at the track until two.” Trish wished she hadn’t mentioned the track when she saw a frown wrinkle her mother’s forehead. “I’ll have plenty of time. You haven’t made sugar cookies yet, and I’ll do the Rice Krispies bars too.”

  “And fudge.” David took the milk carton out of her hands. “We need lots of fudge.” He poured his glass full and chose a brownie off the plate Marge had left on the counter.

  “You can help us decorate the cookie trees and stars and stuff. You missed out last year,” Trish told him.

  “Just make extra fudge. With lots of nuts in it.”

  Marge and Trish laughed together at the silly grin on David’s face. “Seems to me we sent several care packages of fudge to you at college last year.” Marge indicated the milk carton on the counter and pointed to the refrigerator.

  “Yeah. And I had to fight off half the dorm to get any.” David ducked his head as he reached for the carton to put it away. “I thought maybe Trish wanted more.”

  “Ri-ght!” Trish rinsed her glass in the sink and set it in the dishwasher. “See you in the morning, brother dear.”

  She paused a moment in front of the tree. That is the most gorgeous tree we’ve ever had. She heard her father cough as she passed his closed bedroom door. He’d gone to bed right after dinner. God, please make him completely well, she thought as she fell asleep.

  Trish helped with the baking Saturday morning. The house smelled so good she hated to leave. At the track she’d already had one win before she joined her father and John Anderson in the saddling paddock. The gelding Final Command pricked his ears and blew in her face before rubbing his forehead on her silks.

  Trish snapped rubber bands over her cuffs to keep the wind from blowing up her sleeves. While the sky was clear, the temperature was dropping and the wind felt like it was blowing right off a field of snow.

  “Trish.” John Anderson tapped her knee. “I want you to do something today that I know you’re going to disagree with.”

  Trish stopped gathering her reins and stared first at John, then at her father. Her dad nodded.

  “What is it?”

  “I want you to use the whip on him. We all know that this old boy just likes to run with the bunch, so when you get him up with the front runners like you did last time, I want you to go to the whip. Make him want to win.”

  “But…but you know he—I…” Trish swallowed the rest of her argument. At her father’s nod, she patted the horse’s neck and unclenched her jaw. “If you say I have to.”

  As soon as they trotted onto the track, the wind knifed through Trish’s winter silks and the long johns she wore. Her nose was already dripping as they passed the grandstand on the parade to post, and only the horse’s warm neck kept her hands from freezing.

  “Well, old boy,” she said as he walked placidly into the starting gate. “Don’t blame me, but they said we gotta light a fire under you. I promise you this, you run like we both know you can and I won’t have to use the whip.”

  By the time the last stubborn horse finally entered the gate for the third time, Trish couldn’t keep from shivering. But as soon as the gates clanged open and the field surged forward, she forgot the cold.

  The gelding ran easily, about midway in the pack as the horses spread out by the halfway point. At Trish’s urging, he gained on the fourth place, then the third.

  “Come on now,” she shouted at the four-furlong marker. “Go for it!” The gelding lengthened his stride to catch the second-place horse, hanging on the tail of the leader.

  Trish hesitated for only an instant. She brought the whip down on his shoulder at the same time that she shouted, “Go!”

  The gelding bolted forward. Trish whapped him again. With his ears flat against his head, the horse pounded across the finish line, nose and nose with the gray who’d been leading.

  “A photo finish!” Trish galloped him a bit farther around the track before pulling him down and around. “Well, I guess we gave it our best shot. Maybe I should have given you the whip sooner.”

  The gelding shook his head. Trish kept an eye on the board as she walked him in circles. The icy wind sneake
d past her concentration and made her shiver. Man, it’s cold.

  “And the winner is number five—” Trish ignored the rest of the announcement and trotted the gelding over to the winner’s circle. She gave him one more pat as she slipped off.

  “I hate to say I told you so, but—”

  “He told you so,” Hal finished, laughing. “Good job, Tee. We always knew this old bugger had a win in him.”

  “Congratulations and thanks.” Anderson shook Trish’s hand. “Just think, we don’t even have to worry about bruises with this guy.”

  Trish hugged her saddle to block the wind when she stepped on the scale. And she still had another ride to go.

  After a place in the eighth race, Trish jogged back to the stables to ride home with David and Brad. They had the gelding all loaded, but dusk was falling by the time they drove away from the track. David turned the heater on full blast when he felt Trish shiver beside him.

  “Sure glad I’m not riding tomorrow if it stays this cold.” Trish rubbed her hands in the warmth pouring from the vents. “Maybe we’ll have snow for Christmas.”

  “That’s all we need.”

  Trish got her wish. Thick snowflakes drifted down while the Evanstons enjoyed Christmas Eve dinner. By the time they left for church, the ground was white.

  “At least it’s warmer,” Trish said as she slid into the backseat of the car. “And there’s no wind.”

  “True.” Hal pointed at the huge flakes sparkling past the yard light. “Had to warm up to snow.”

  It was a candlelight service. Votive candles flickered in the iron sconces spaced along the walls. Tall white tapers banked the platform. Only the Christ candle remained to be lit on the cedar-bough Advent wreath suspended by chains behind the altar. White and gold chrismons and miniature white tree lights adorned the tall fir beside the pulpit.

  Trish held her unlit candle while she glanced through the bulletin. All her favorite carols were being included in the service. She slipped her free hand through her father’s arm. This was her most favorite service of the year.

  A hush fell, as if all the world were waiting on tiptoe for the Christ Child to come. The organ burst into “Angels We Have Heard on High” and the congregation rose and began to sing as with one voice. Trish sang each “Gloria” sure that the angels couldn’t sound any better. The church was full to overflowing and so was her heart.

  Outside after the service, Rhonda handed Trish a package wrapped in Snoopy paper. “Call me after you open your presents.” She leaned close and whispered in Trish’s ear. “Has he guessed yet?”

  Trish shook her head. “Not even close.” She gave Rhonda a narrow, flat box wrapped in silver paper. “Merry Christmas.” After hugging Rhonda, she turned to give Brad his present when a snowball splooshed on her shoulder. She ducked the next one, this time from David, handed the package to Brad’s mother, and scooped up the snow from the stair railing. Just as Brad turned, her barely packed snowball caught him on the cheek.

  The fight flew fast and furious, quickly involving all the teenagers. Even an adult or two joined in, and those that didn’t cheered for the others.

  David and Trish were still puffing when they joined their parents in the car after shouting “Merry Christmas” to everyone.

  “Well, having a snowball fight is sure a different way to end the Christmas Eve service.” Trish laughed as she slumped against the backseat and flicked a remaining clump of snow off David.

  By morning the snow had stopped falling, but all the fir trees drooped low with its weight. Trish and David hurried through the chores, making sure each horse got a handful of chopped carrots as a treat. Miss Tee preferred a handful of feed.

  “Do you think we’ll get more snow?” Trish asked as they slogged their way back up to the house.

  “Possibly. Those clouds look mighty heavy.” David kicked his boots against the steps. “Won’t be much moving around today.”

  “Good. Let’s hurry so we can open presents.”

  Marge had scrambled eggs with bacon and cheese ready when they walked through the door. Steaming mugs of hot chocolate with marshmallows were set at each of their places. The sliced round loaf of Julekage, Norwegian Christmas bread, was placed in the center of the table, flanked on either side with bright red candles.

  “Oh, Mom.” Trish breathed deeply. “This smells wonderful.”

  “Wash your hands and we’re all set.” Marge checked the table once more.

  Hal bowed his head as they all joined hands. “Heavenly Father, all I can say is thank you. You have given us everything, but most importantly, you’ve given us yourself. Thank you for the food and for each other. Amen.”

  Trish squeezed both her mother’s and David’s hands. “Remember the year we got up at three-thirty?”

  “And I sent you back to bed with threats of no presents.” Hal shook his head. “I’m sure glad you’ve learned to sleep in.”

  The meal couldn’t pass quickly enough for Trish. But she knew the more she tried to hurry them, the slower her parents would be. “I get to be Santa this year.” She gulped the last of her cocoa.

  Chapter

  04

  You are the slowest people on earth, Trish thought.

  “Patience, Tee.” Hal smiled as he settled back in the comforting arms of his recliner

  “Is there any time you can’t read my mind?”.

  “I’ll never tell. Why don’t you use some of that tamped down energy and throw another log on the fire?”

  Trish put two logs on the fire while darting disgusted looks toward the kitchen, where Marge and David dawdled with the dishes—or something.

  “Maybe you should bring in a couple more chunks of wood before—”

  “Da-ad.”

  Hal laughed. “Just kidding.” He held up a hand in a plea for peace. “Come on in here, you two, before Trish has a conniption fit. You’d think something was under the tree for her the way she’s carrying on.”

  That’s not the problem this year, Trish thought. This time I can’t wait until you open your present from me. She sank to the floor in front of the tree and hugged her knees. Sparks snapped their way up the chimney from the blazing fire. Strains from “O Holy Night” drifted from the stereo and mingled with the song about eagle’s wings in Trish’s mind.

  She watched the gold disks of an ornament catch and reflect the light as it revolved in the heat above a glowing red light bulb. The winged angel at the top seemed to smile right at her. Trish smiled back. This was a good morning for smiling.

  “Here we are.” Marge set a tray with steaming cups of hot chocolate on the coffee table. Roly-poly snowmen danced around each mug topped with whipped cream and a candy cane for stirring.

  Trish crawled on hands and knees to the table, then sank back on her haunches. She shook her head. “You outdid yourself, Mom. How pretty.”

  “I thought we all needed something extra special today.” She carried a mug over to Hal. “Here, dear. Merry Christmas.” She leaned over and kissed him.

  Trish watched them over the rim of her mug. The warm glow in the middle of her stomach had nothing to do with the hot chocolate. She hadn’t even sipped it yet.

  “Well, let’s begin.” Marge settled herself in her rocking chair and blinked away the tears that threatened to overflow and run down her cheeks. “Trish, let’s start with the oldest first this year.”

  Trish searched the name tags for one for her father, then passed a shoebox covered with red and green holly paper to him. The tradition of each person opening a present while the others watched had begun. She planned to save the eagle for last.

  David let out a yelp when he opened his first present. “Tires!” He waved the coupon in the air. “I haven’t had time to buy mine yet.”

  “Good thing.” Trish laughed along with him.

  “Thanks, Mom, Dad.”

  Her laughter stopped when she opened a large flat box from her mother and father. “How did you know? Rhonda told you—oh, it�
�s beautiful.” She held up the turquoise ski jacket with hot pink and white slashes on the sleeves. “Thank you, thank you,” she repeated, hugging the jacket to her chest.

  “Sorry you aren’t happier with your present,” Hal teased as he licked his candy cane. “This stuff sure is good, Marge.”

  The unopened gifts under the tree dwindled as the wrapping and ribbons littered the floor. Each one had opened several presents until only those for the neighbors were left—plus one. Trish drew the square silver box from behind the tree and carried it to her father.

  “No tag?” He turned the box looking for a card.

  “It’s from me.” Trish sank down on the hearth and leaned her elbows on her knees.

  Hal carefully slit the paper.

  “You could hurry a bit.”

  Please like it, the little voice inside her whispered.

  Her father folded the paper and slit the tape on the heavy cardboard box.

  Trish clenched her eyes and hands shut. The rustle of paper forced her to open them again.

  Hal carefully lifted the eagle from its packing nest. He turned the burnished wood sculpture each way to look at it from every angle.

  “Oh-h-h, Trish.” Marge rose from her chair and knelt beside the recliner. “It’s magnificent!”

  Hal pressed his lips together and blinked rapidly. In spite of his efforts, a tear meandered down his cheek. He drew a forefinger across the lifted wing.

  “D-do you—um-mm…” Trish studied her father’s face as he studied the eagle.

  He likes it, you dummy, her little voice chanted. Can’t you tell?

  But Trish needed to hear his approval. “Well?” her voice steadied this time.

  Hal handed the eagle to Marge and reached both arms for his daughter. “Thank you, Tee,” he said into her hair as he gathered her close to his chest. “Where did you ever find anything so perfect?”

  “You—you said that was your favorite verse too.” Her voice was muffled against his shirt. “And the song, it keeps playing in my head.”

  David took the eagle from Marge so he could examine it. “It’s really something. Each feather is carved so perfectly. It looks alive.”