Once Upon a Misty Bluegrass Hill

by Rebecca Bernadette Mance

  "Patrick, please."

  "Storm is too jittery to run the Derby. He's too jittery to run anything. I grant you he is a fast one, but we haven't been able to get him tamed down enough to get into the gate."

  A terrible scene darted across her heart. "My mamma called the rain 'tears from Heaven', but the rain that night was not the gentle tears from Heaven."

  "Now Little Red, it isn't good for yer to remember the bad."

  She turned away from Patrick and looked across the field to where the barn once stood. She could see her parents pulling Storm's mamma into the barn as clear as if it had happened yesterday.

  "Storm's mother's name was Dancer's Dream." Jolene whispered from that distant place where the memories always took her. Tears, hot and prickly, hurt her eyes. "Storm was prancing around. He never listened to his mother or my daddy either one. Almost as soon as my daddy got Dancer's Dream into the barn, it collapsed on my parents….on all of them." Her tears ran as hard as the terrible tornado did that night.

  Patrick reached out and touched her shoulder in comfort. "Don't talk about it Little Red."

  But comfort could not find Jolene because she was already too far into the scene that had pursued her dreams a sundry of nights. "Storm just stood there looking, crying like I never heard a horse cry. Me and Storm were out there for hours in the rain trying to figure out how to get all them out a'fore anyone came."

  Patrick closed her into his warm comfort. "Blessed Mary - Jolene. I'm so sorry."

  Jolene looked up, her eyes going dry and her heart aching for something she couldn't touch anymore.

  But that thing lived in Storm.

  They had taken the terrible journey together long ago. But she knew there was a pilgrimage out of the nightmare with a new ending…a different ending. Storm was Dancer's Dream's son after all. Her father said he would be a Derby winner…that he'd dance on Derby day. And he had yet to dance.

  Now was their time.

  She turned to Patrick determined to make him see. "He has to dance Patrick….even though I know he is tough to work with. Remember that the great Man o'War was hard to train too. Storm is just scared of going inside the gate; he'll be fast getting out. He remembers the barn falling with his mother inside. That is why he doesn't want to go inside the gate. It is like going into the dark barn in the rain. His mother went inside and it collapsed. He was just outside the barn and saw everything. Don't you see? It all works out just fine when you know the reasons he is like that."

  Patrick was grim. "He is so nervous Red."

  Jolene stomped her foot and smacked her leg. "He ain't jittery. He's been waiting for this moment all his life. That is why he isn't patient. He's just tired of waiting. He can run like the wind!"

  Patrick tucked a wayward lock of her hair behind her ear. "Don't say 'aint'".

  "I am say'in ain't! Besides, look how you talk, it is a lot worse than me!"

  "I am not you. I am just a highly educated Irish, who hasn't lost his accent…but you can get better. Yer live here in the States all yur life, so yer should know it better." He clipped her chin. "So what is your excuse then?"

  "I don't want to talk about that. Storm ain't too scared. That is not what it is that troubles him."

  Patrick sighed. "How are we going to get him into that gate tell me that? And if yur get him there, how you gunna keep him from killing you or himself and possibly other horses…or breaking his leg? I'd rather keep him as a stud without the risk. Because I understand him some, I do."

  She blinked her red lashed lids in appeal. "Let me work with him, I'll get him into the gate. He won't spook anyone. I promise...he'll be smooth as silk. "

  Patrick laughed softly. "I know yer can tame him a bit under your hand. But yur just a tiny little thing; I don't want you atop that big horse that is too wild by far in a race where so many things can go wrong. He is a creature, that Storm, a strange wild creature. What if something happens to yer?"

  "It is because of what happened that night...that is all it is. That is what is the matter with him. But I understand him. I do! I promise, I'll get him to the practice gates, you'll see."

  Jolene waited, biting her fingernail.

  Patrick was grim-thoughtful for several minutes then he smiled and ruffled her hair. "Yur not going give up on it are yer, Little Red?"

  She jerked her head away and flattened her red locks down to her head. "No, I am not going to give up and if you let me work with him and get him ready for the Derby I won't say "ain't" anymore…not ever."

  He looked at her with severe eyes. "You'll learn your manners, at the cotillion then too?"

  She stopped her pleading short and grabbed a lock of hair and twisted. "You mean that? You mean I gotta get all silly and sissy and manners and all of that?"

  He smiled fiendishly tugging her finger from her hair. "Not just that, I'll be sending you off to a fancy school next fall…or maybe the summer to get yer some polish first. You'll be with lots of other girls where yur gunna' learn about being a lady…if I'm to turn yer out and find you a nice husband."

  Jolene looked at him incredulous and jumped down from the fence. "What? Now who is insane? I don't want to do any of that! A husband?" She jammed her fists on her hips in her outrage. "Really Patrick…I don't think so! Sure I wanted to go to college, but not some kind of college like that."

  "If you'll do that, and learn everything well...make good grades … and promise me fast!" His eyes glinted severe though pared with a smile. "Yer have to learn some of it well enough with a tutor so I can step out with you before the Derby right and fine. After the Derby, the tutor'll keep a coming to get yur ready for your school in the fall." He stopped and leveled her with a stern morning-glory-gaze. "If you promise me you'll do it, then I'll work with you and get you a trainer with some Derby experience….a jockey so we can learn how to get Storm ready for the Derby."

  Jolene stamped her foot and cursed as she marched in a small circle around Patrick, quickly evaluating her arguments and options. "That just isn't fair at all!"

  He laughed deep and hearty. "Take it or leave it. And I'll be having a nice couple of dresses made up for the Pre-Derby festivities, like opening day and such made for yer. If you do it all up fine and right and you promise me such, then I'll let yer work with the trainer and jockey to get Storm ready for Derby." He shook his head with his doubts. "Even as futile as I think it is mind you."

  A stubborn glint moved from Jolene's heart and shot through her eyes to Patrick. "Well, then, you have yourself a deal."

  Patrick looked at her stringently. "Promise me…promise on your parents' graves no matter what the school, you'll go if I let you ride the Derby on Storm."

  Jolene didn't care about anything at this second except riding Storm in the Derby.

  Besides, how bad of a school could he possibly pick out? She wanted to go to school to become a vet after all so did it really matter where? This was just the first four years after all.

  "I swear."

  Patrick laughed softly. "We'll see how well yer do with your lessons. And if Storm cannot qualify, our deal is still the same."

  Jolene climbed back over the fence and glowered over the post at Patrick. "Me and Storm are going to show you alright."

  He smiled. "We cannot call him Storm for the Derby. What is his Derby name Little Red?"

  Jolene stood back and turned to look at the location where their old barn once stood. She immersed herself in the terrible memories of that day. But she only let herself go a little deep into the memory…enough to feel Storm's name, but not enough to take her down.

  "We can call him Big Storm." It is perfect because it was a very big storm that day."

  Patrick laughed but his eyes reflected blue-sorrow. "Now that does sound like a Derby horse even if I don't think he'll ever see the spires of Churchill Downs." He took her shoulder. "Yer know that qualifying a horse is very hard."

  Jolene brought herself up straight, overwhelmed by the prospect. "I think Big Storm is t
he name of a horse who'll win a Triple Crown. That's what I'll say to you about that smarty-pants Patrick." Jolene turned on her hel and marched away on feet of determination.

  Patrick watched her tiny tenacious frame saunter back to Big Storm who touched her arm like he was a gentle lamb rather than a raging stallion that appeared to hate the world.

  Patrick laughed. "We'll see about all that Little Red. We'll just see about all that."

  Chapter 7

  The story started in the wee hours of March 29, 1917, when Belmont's young Rock Sand mare Mahubah went into labor to deliver her second foal. It was a big one -- a tall, leggy chestnut colt with a star like his sire's, Fair Play's. Fair Play had been a top class racehorse and was well into a successful career as a stallion, this colt being in his seventh foal crop.

  The mare, Mahubah, was lightly raced, as were many Belmont-bred fillies. She had won a race, but being rather high strung like her sire, the imported English Triple Crown winner Rock Sand (whose stall at Nursery Stud was heavily padded to reduce injury to himself), was retired shortly after proving her ability on the track. Mahubah's first foal was Masda, a 1915 filly by Fair Play, who was also excessively nervous, but managed to win 6 races from 23 starts. (Masda was the dam of 3 stakes winners and became the third dam of Triple Crown winner Assault. Her female line survives to this day.) Mahubah produced only 5 foals, all by Fair Play, and besides Masda, these included the good stakes winner My Play (1919), winner of the Jockey Club Gold Cup at 5 and a good sire. Thoroughbred Heritage Portraits - July 23, 2012.

  They won in Keeneland. Twice. By several lengths. On opening day at the Spring Meet at Churchill Downs Big Storm won again by an even larger margin to Patrick's utter disbelief. So that sealed the deal. Patrick and Bernie had gone and paid the fees and sorted through all that needed to be done to qualify Big Storm for the Derby.

  Patrick had insisted on hiring a retired jockey, Herbert Connelly, to teach her about being a jockey. Jolene had resisted at first, insulted that Patrick would believe anyone was a better teacher than her father….

  But that wasn't half as bad as Patrick hiring Calvin Brock, the famous jockey, to come by periodically and take a few turns with Big Storm..."as a backup."

  Jolene never talked to Calvin deciding to ignore him out of utter jealousy and possessiveness when he rode Big Storm since she was the only one who had been able to ride him until Calvin showed up.

  While she ignored Calvin for his infrequent visits it was hard to oppose Herbert who insisted he knew her father. They had "served in Nam together."

  A crusty man with flowing gray hair that he tied back like an aging California hippie, Herbert was filled with laughter and Jolene suspected a bit of bourbon nearly every day.

  He rode up each day on his shiny Harley sending Storm into a bolt across the field. Herbert would wink at her and rev the engine every time. "He needs to get used to loud noises."

  Jolene was not sure Storm ran because he was excited to see Herbert or because the sound terrified him. It was as if he enjoyed the danger on some level.

  What was obvious was that Storm did love to race so he had grown rather fond of Herbert. As a result, despite the motorcycle revving, eventually Storm would calm down and come back to the gate to greet Herbert.

  She taught Bernie how to deal with Storm and soon Bernie was Storm's friend too. Jolene spent hours talking to Bernie and hearing his stories about Iraq. Those stories often ended with tears in both of their eyes. It seemed to help Bernie feel better to talk about everything that happened and especially about how he lost his leg. He said that Isha got too upset to talk about it. Storm liked to hear the stories too and became quite sympathetic to Bernie's prosthetic leg.

  They timed Storm and raced him against the best horses they had, but Storm could not be beat, and second was never even close to him. He was too arrogant to allow himself to lose. Just like the legend Man o'War.

  The Derby was getting close. The air crackled with expectation. It whispered around them as the magic of Kentucky this time of year. Kentucky was the Derby and the Derby was Kentucky. There was nothing like it in the world.

  They were driving along Highway 68 or "Paris Pike" to the locals, flying by all the big houses and horse farms on their way back from putting in the final paperwork for the Derby and picking up the saddle that needed a new strap.

  The horse carriages pulled away from wrought iron gates that held the mysteries of the finest horses in all of the world and the closely held training secrets behind those gates. The mystic knowledge behind them was passed from generation to generation through whispers along the rolling hills of Kentucky.

  Patrick turned to her with staid violet eyes. How she loved his eyes. She could get lost in them, forever testing their color. His arm rested on the top of the open window. The spring breeze held hints of roses and lavender growing along the roadside.

  "Little Red, I want Calvin to ride Storm."

  The wind blew her hair into her face and she grabbed the curls and held them in her hand. "No! Are you insane? Why?"

  He looked back at the road and sighed. "Because I want you wearing a fancy hat, drinking sparkling wine and seeing the Derby the way it was meant to be seen. I am anxious that you cannot hold onto the horse. You don't have a lot of experience. Being honest, it was a mistake to agree to let yer do this."

  Jolene turned down the radio and stared at him, panic rattling through her. "I can't believe this…after all the training ... and what about the promise to go to school? We had a deal!" Jolene grabbed his arm that held the steering wheel. "Besides I don't want to see the Derby in a fancy dress. I want to see it for real. I want to be see'in it with the dirt in my face, rid'in hard and helping Storm to win.

  He shook his head with a smile. "And you claim you don't have any Irish in yur."

  "Please Patrick, please. You cannot back out now, you made a promise. Even my weight is perfect. I made sure I didn't eat chips for weeks now!"

  Patrick sighed and looked out at the distant pastures ahead of him that ran on either side of the road. "Yer might get hurt Red, then what would I do?"

  She leaned closer to him with urgent purpose. "I'll hang on tight. Storm and me have a journey to take. That quest started that awful day. We couldn't run fast enough. Neither one of us could outrun that storm."

  Jolene felt the lump rising in her throat but gulped it away. "But come Derby day, we'll be chasing away those ghosts. Daddy always said we had a Derby horse. We do have him. He is Storm. Me and Storm lost everything that night. Tomorrow we gonna get it back when we ride in the Derby." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "All the dreams of my parents, all the dreams of his parents and beyond, they gonna come together right there at the finish line of the Derby."

  He shook his head and sighed hard. "All right then. I guess I did make a promise didn't I?"

  "Yes, yes you did!"

  He leveled her a sharp glance before his eyes returned to the road. "You remember to hang on tight, no matter what. Win or lose…you stay on that horse."

  She leaned toward him and grabbed his head and kissed his cheek hard. "Oh, I will Patrick, I promise I will."

  Patrick chuckled. "Let go of me so I can drive!"

  Jolene plopped back into her seat and adjusted her seat belt, letting the wind again kick her hair. "I can't believe you considered not letting me ride after all this."

  Laughing, Patrick shook his head. "Just so long as you remember your other promise, about going to the school I pick out fer yer? You promise me you'll not be trying to back out on our bargain once yer done with the Derby?"

  "I promise Patrick, I promise…cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye."

  Patrick turned onto their road where the Indian Creek sign stood. There was a red tobacco barn that rose from the corner pasture. In the field roamed two draft horses. "Arah girl, there is no need to be poke'in yer eyes out, just keep yur promise to me."

  "I promise, Patrick."

  *****

/>   The moon ran full across the black sky with the same eyes as the pagan worshipers of days gone by. The fog gathered under the moon glowing in devotion, floating along the green grass.

  Finnegan sat with his white-merle coat glowing under the moon next to his brother Oliver who watched the night with earnest attention. Both herding dogs had hailed from Scotland and like her ancestors brought something of what they were when they came across the sea.

  And like the Celts, the "Scotch-Irish" her mother would say, she gathered her rose buds softly in the quiet waiting night. She plucked one red, for Patrick….Oh how she loved him, even if he did vex her to no end. He was so beautiful, so smart and he had made her dream of riding in the Derby on Big Storm come true.

  Next was yellow for friendship….for her dogs who were her best friends for life.

  Pink was for prosperity and a long life.

  And the last big red rose was for winning the Derby.

  Run for the roses….

  She went out into the field to stand next to Storm who waited in silent reference to the moonlit night.

  She began plucking the leaves and scattering them along the velvet wind. "Throw your rose petals to the wind on a moonlit night and your wishes will all come true."

  "You get on him my beautiful girl, just like I taught you. Hold him tender under your hand, but show him you expect everything out of him…hold him just a bit in the beginning and when you get around the second turn just let his head go and hang on tight."

  Jolene shivered under the moonlight holding the moment. Tears soaked her face. She stood surrounded by her rose petals.

  And whispers of her father.

  Dreams of the past, dreams of the future.

  Dreams cast upon the wind.

  "I'll do it exactly like that Daddy."

  Chapter 8

  Man o'War was not an easy horse to break, showing much of the fiery nature inherited from Fair Play and Hastings, probably enhanced by the nervous energy coming from Mahubah and Rock Sand. As a yearling, he had been a gawky, spare-looking individual that appealed to many, including Riddle, as a potential hunter-jumper. Many considered him something short of elegant, but he filled out into a truly magnificent specimen, tall and powerfully muscled, with the high head carriage of the Fair Plays. Man o'War's running gait was unusual, a bounding leap that covered a tremendous amount of ground. He was a free-running horse and despite his size, showed tremendous agility and acceleration at the break. Thoroughbred Heritage Portraits - July 23, 2012.