Golden Filly Collection One

by Lauraine Snelling

  Trish couldn’t believe her eyes as Frances showed her around. The men’s jockey room at Portland wasn’t as nice as this. Lockers, showers, a room with beds in case someone was tired, a whirlpool for injuries, sauna; and then they walked through a short hall to the recreation room with a snack bar for men and women. Some guys were already shooting pool and a TV flickered in one corner. The track monitor was showing videos of past Derby races.

  Hal and Trish looked at each other and shook their heads. Things sure were different in Kentucky.

  “Y’all come on up and visit and I’ll introduce you to the other women jockeys around here,” Frances invited. “We get into some pretty good story swappin’ up here.”

  “I’d like that,” Trish replied.

  “You shown them the museum yet?”

  “Nope, that’s next,” Red answered. “We’ll meet you back outside, Trish.”

  “Thanks, Frances,” Trish said as they turned the corner back into the women’s room. “I’ll probably see you next week.”

  “Any questions, you just ask,” Frances said. “I’m here, seems like all the time.”

  The museum was located just outside the main gate. Trish realized immediately it would take hours to go through it. She glanced in the gift store just enough to know she’d like to spend more time there.

  “Wait till you see the show in here on Thursday morning when they draw post positions.” Red waved to a two-story oval room with other wings branching off. “This is the best museum on Thoroughbred racing anywhere. Y’all oughta take the tour if you can. There’s a library here and you can watch all the previous races that were filmed on video.”

  Trish stood in the center of the room and slowly turned around. Pictures, statues, displays, lists of all the Derby winners, all about the sport and industry she loved. She felt as if she were in the midst of greatness.

  “Wow!” She closed her eyes to picture Spitfire’s name on the list of Derby champions. When she opened them again, she saw Eric watching her. His grin surely matched her own. She could feel her cheeks stretching.

  “That horseshoe out there is used only for the Derby,” Red told them as they left the dimness of the tunnel under the grandstand. He showed them another place to their left, also banked with flowers but not nearly so grand. “The rest of the time this is for the winners. That seating area right up above it is for owners and their wives.”

  “Hey, Red,” another jockey called. “If you’re up on the first, you better get up there.”

  “See y’all later.” Red smiled from Trish to her father. “Your badges will get you in anywhere.” He walked backward as he talked. “Enjoy the races.”

  “Nice guy,” Hal said as they followed the fence line to the backside.

  “Yeah.”

  Even if he is bossy, her little voice chuckled.

  Sunday morning two bales of straw were stacked by stall five when they arrived. Eric had the stall half mucked out when Trish returned from walking Spitfire.

  “Gotta run.” He grabbed up his helmet as he left.

  That afternoon Hal felt much better, so he and Trish drove to Lexington to see the bluegrass country.

  “People around here sure must love to mow.” Trish had mild whiplash from trying to see both sides of the manicured highway at once. “See, even the pastures look like front lawns.”

  “Better’n our yard,” Hal agreed with her.

  “And the fences. I thought they’d all be white, but some are black.

  And look at those barns.”

  “Even the barns are fancier than our house.” Hal pointed out a particularly impressive structure on the top of a rise.

  Trish rolled her window down. “It even smells good. I never believed what they said about the grass being blue, but it is.” She pointed to a field that hadn’t been mowed. The breeze rippled waves of deep blue-green across the stand of grass.

  Hal pulled off the main highway so they could drive slower. He stopped at one field where a group of mares and foals grazed peacefully.

  “Aren’t they something?” One youngster kicked up his heels and soon three raced across the rolling pasture. “Already in training for the races.”

  “So many at once.” Trish rested her chin on her hands on the window. “I’ve never seen so many foals at one time.”

  “And look at the field of babies, all those yearlings.” Hal pulled the car forward to the next pasture.

  “Seems funny to call them babies.”

  “I know.” Hal checked his watch. “We better head back. We’ll try to come back tomorrow or Tuesday and visit the Horse Park.”

  “Maybe Mom and David’ll want to see that too.”

  “If they get here in time.”

  By the time they’d finished chores, Red hadn’t made an appearance. Trish refused to admit she felt disappointed. After all, he hadn’t said when he’d see her again. She decided to call Rhonda when they got back to the hotel, and tell her about the Jacuzzi. She slumped in her seat. Much as she loved being with her father, she did miss the rest of the four musketeers.

  “You better cut it off.” Hal tapped his watch later that evening. “Half an hour on long distance is enough.”

  “Okay,” Trish sighed. “Dad says I gotta go. No, I’m not taking a picture of Eric. Rhonda, knock it off. He’s just being nice to a stranger. Tell Brad all that’s been going on. Bye.”

  She slumped against her pillows. There was a three-hour time difference. Right now Washington seemed terribly faraway. She moped into the bathroom and started the water running in the tub. A hot soak would feel mighty good, and while it was filling she could talk to David and her mother. Her father had dialed home as soon as she’d hung up.

  Sadness pulled Trish down into a puddle of lament after the call home.

  Marge still wouldn’t say for sure she was coming.

  Chapter

  12

  Monday’s paper carried a story about Trish and Spitfire.

  “Can’t these guys get anything straight?” Trish folded the paper and handed it back to her dad. They were sitting in their tack room about ready to go for breakfast.

  “What don’t you like?”

  “I don’t know, just a feeling, I guess. Like they think I don’t ride anything but Spitfire. That anything else I ride is just accidental. You know I’ve been doing all right at The Meadows.”

  “You and I both know you’re an exceptional rider, but the rest of the racing world won’t think so until you ride other horses at other tracks. That’s just the facts.” Hal shrugged his shoulders. “Let’s go eat.”

  Eric didn’t join them at the track kitchen like he usually had.

  Trish caught herself looking around for him. The two bales of straw had been by their stall, so she knew he was at the track.

  Oh, so you’re missing him, are you? her little nagger snickered. Thought you said he was bossy.

  Trish wiped her mouth with her napkin. Eric was just a friend, that’s all. And I need a friend here. Everyone else is so far away. She picked up her father’s tray and returned it with hers to the washing window.

  “You want to go to the Horse Park today?” Hal asked as they drove out the gate.

  Trish looked out her window. Heavy dark clouds covered the western sky. A brisk wind tossed trash in the air and whipped the branches of the huge shade trees around.

  “I don’t know. The weather doesn’t look too good.”

  By the time they looped up onto the freeway, lightning forked against the black clouds. A few seconds later, thunder crashed louder than the sound of the car engine.

  “Dad, let’s go back to the track. You know Spitfire doesn’t like loud noises.”

  “And he’s never been through a midwest thunderstorm.”

  “Neither have I.”

  Jumbo raindrops pelted their car by the time they returned to the track. Lightning had just split the sky when Trish bailed out of the car by barn 41. She heard Spitfire scream as the thunder rolled ov
er them, rattling the metal roof like a giant kettledrum.

  Trish unhooked the web gate and slipped into the stall just as Spitfire reared, slashing the air with his hooves. She felt the wind of it on her cheek.

  “Easy now, come on, Spitfire. We’re here.” She grabbed for his halter, all the while murmuring his name and comforting words.

  Eyes rolling white, nostrils flared red, Spitfire trembled under her calming hands. The rain pounding on the roof above them drowned out her voice to any but the horse’s ears. But that’s who the singsong was for.

  “Here, Trish.” Hal handed her a lead shank. “Run the chain through his mouth in case you need some control.”

  Trish did as she was told, and finished just as lightning turned the stable area blue-white. Spitfire threw up his head, but Trish clamped one hand over his nose and clutched the strap tight against his jaw with the other. She hunched her shoulders, waiting for the coming boom.

  The crack sounded right overhead. Spitfire’s front feet left the ground, but Trish stayed right with him. “Easy, boy, come on now. Nothing’s gonna hurt you.” He quivered as she stroked his ears and neck. Sweat darkened his hide.

  “The storm’s heading east, so maybe this won’t last much longer.” Hal stood on the opposite side of the colt, copying Trish’s calming actions.

  “Hope so. You sure this building’s safe?”

  “Lightning goes for the high points. The two spires on top of the grandstand would attract it away from here.”

  Trish sniffed. “What’s that funny smell?”

  “Ozone. From the lightning. That last one was right above us.”

  “Thanks.”

  Spitfire snorted like he was relieved too. When the thunder rolled again, it was far enough away that he only flinched. The rain changed instruments from kettledrum to keyboard, singing off the eaves and thrumming on the gravel.

  Trish took a deep breath. She wasn’t sure if her hand shook of itself or because it strangled the colt’s halter. She unclamped her fist and flexed her fingers.

  Spitfire draped his head over her shoulder, shaken by an occasional quiver, just as a person shuddering after a crying spell.

  Hal handed Trish a brush, and started on the other side with another one. “Let’s get him dried off.”

  “You okay here?” one of the track assistants asked.

  “Now we are.” Hal left off brushing and stood at the door.

  “Yours wasn’t the only horse shook up.”

  “Yeah, we don’t get thunder and lightning much at all at home, and never like that.”

  “You need anything, you let us know.” The man moved off.

  Now that Spitfire was calmed down, Trish realized she was soaked. She hadn’t been able to run between the drops during that downpour. She looked up from her brushing in time to see her dad shiver from the breeze that whipped down the aisle. He’d gotten wet too.

  “How about we go back to the hotel and get into some dry clothes?” She finished the brushing and gave Spitfire a last pat. “Come on, Dad.” Shivers attacked her too as soon as she left the warmth of the stall. “Turn the heater on.” She flicked the knobs herself as soon as she got into the car.

  The heat pouring out the vents didn’t make Hal quit shivering. Trish bit her lip as she heard his teeth chatter on a bad shake. “You want me to drive?” she asked.

  “No. I’ll hit the shower as soon as we get to the hotel, and you can make some coffee. Hot liquid inside and out oughta do it.”

  Trish turned the shower on as soon as she entered their suite so the bathroom could steam up. She filled the automatic coffeepot, and when it quit gurgling brought a cup to her father, who was still in the shower.

  “Your coffee’s here on the counter.”

  “Thanks, Tee.”

  Trish noticed the message light winking on the phone. When she dialed the desk, they told her there was a package downstairs for her. By the time she got back up, the shower was quiet.

  “Dad?”

  “In bed. How about bringing me another cup of coffee?”

  Trish poured a cup and carried it in to him. “My stuff came.” She plopped the package down on his bed. “Think I’ll study for a while since the sun’s hiding. You gonna sleep?”

  “Ummm. Can’t believe how cold I got. I forget that my internal thermometer doesn’t work the way it used to, thanks to the chemotherapy.”

  “Want something to eat or anything?”

  “No, thanks.” He handed her the cup. “Oh, maybe you better hand me those antibiotic pills in the amber bottle. Between the dust and the rain, I better be safe than sorry.”

  Trish wrote a paper for English, read two chapters in her history book, and took a nap. Her father was still sleeping when she got up, so she left him a note and drove back to the track to feed Spitfire.

  “Where’s your daddy?” asked the man at the gate. “He all right?”

  “I hope so,” Trish answered.

  Spitfire was glad to see her, but it sure was lonely without her father.

  The sound of his coughing greeted her when she opened the hotel room door. Oh, God, what do I do now? Trish thought of calling her mother, but what good would that do? She knew her father would just tell her to be patient; he’d feel better in the morning.

  But he didn’t.

  Trish had set her alarm for six, and when she went to check on him, her father admitted to a temperature.

  “Should we call a doctor?” Trish crossed her arms, hugging her elbows.

  “No. Just give the antibiotics time to work. But I better stay in bed today. Trish, I can’t tell you how terrible this makes me feel.” The old, ugly rasp was back in his voice.

  “No problem. I’ll get someone to help me at the track. We can order room service for you.”

  “I don’t feel much like eating. Maybe some orange juice and toast when you come back.” He rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Are you sure you can handle things out there?”

  “Da-ad. It’s not like I haven’t done all those chores before.” She set two glasses of water on his nightstand. “Drink. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Trish hated to ask for help. Thoughts of how to take care of the horse and clean out the stall all at the same time nagged at her. She waved at the guard when she drove in and parked the car. Spitfire greeted her with his usual nicker. She poured his feed in the bucket and leaned against the colt’s shoulder while he ate, trying to figure out what to do.

  “How’s your dad?” a familiar voice asked from the door.

  Trish turned. One of her resident butterflies took a leap of pure joy.

  “Hi, Red. He’s fi—how’d you know something was wrong?”

  “Guard said your dad wasn’t here last night or this morning. I knew he wouldn’t leave you alone here unless something was really wrong.”

  Trish swallowed the lump that threatened her throat. “He got wet in that rainstorm—chilled—and now he has a fever.”

  “So he’s in bed?”

  Trish nodded.

  Eric appeared to be thinking hard. “Tell you what, I’ll be right back.” He dog-trotted up the aisle and out the barn.

  Trish carried her saddle and bridle to the stall. Gallop was on the chart for Spitfire’s work for the morning. She’d just have to take this one step at a time.

  She was ready to mount when Eric reappeared—with help.

  “Meet Romero and Juan.”

  Trish smiled at the two dark-haired young men.

  “They’ll clean out the stall while you ride. Then help you wash him down if you’d like. They’re good with horses.”

  “Thank you.” Trish nodded at each of them.

  “Oh, they don’t speak English,” Red added.

  “Gracias,” Trish felt her tongue trip over the simple word. You’d think she’d never taken beginning Spanish, let alone three years of it. But then, words like pitchfork and manure hadn’t been part of the curriculum either. She headed for the tools stored in the tack
box.

  “I’ll see you out on the track,” Red said as he gave her a leg up. “Don’t worry about these guys. They know what to do.”

  “Thanks.” Trish stared down into eyes blue enough to drown in. She adjusted her helmet and nudged Spitfire forward. Her throat felt dry. She wasn’t coming down with something—was she?

  It was almost possible to forget her worries with the breeze fresh in her face and Spitfire tugging at the bit. She kept him to a walk for half a circuit, then let him slow-gallop. He didn’t fight her for more this morning, as if he knew she had enough to think about. Eric, mounted on a feisty gray, walked a circuit with her.

  Later, she realized how much she enjoyed his teasing. Laughing felt good, but a clean stall and extra hands to help her wash the colt down and walk him out felt even better.

  “You going for breakfast?” Eric showed up just as Trish had said her last muchas gracias.

  “No. I need to get back to my dad. Thanks for finding me help.” Trish opened her car door. “See ya.”

  Red leaned on the open door. “Where y’all staying?”

  “The Louisville Inn. Why?”

  “I’ll call you later to see how things are going.” He touched a finger to his helmet and trotted off.

  Trish fixed a tray of food at the hotel buffet and carried it up to the suite. Her father was still asleep. She’d heard him coughing and wandering about several times during the night.

  “Dad?” She moved things aside and set the tray on the nightstand. “I brought you breakfast.”

  “How’s Spitfire?” Hal turned on his back and looked at her with real awareness for the first time since the chill. He cleared his throat.

  Trish propped a couple of pillows behind his head and handed him a glass of orange juice. “He’s fine, I’m fine, and you’re looking better.” She lifted the plastic dome off the plate and set the tray across his knees. “I’ll go make some coffee.”

  She caught herself humming as she filled the pot. Amazing how her father’s feeling better put a song in her heart.