The clear moon had fooled everyone because at 3:00 a.m. the clouds rolled in and it poured rain. Jolene's Granny would have said, "It rained cats and dogs."
Big Storm pranced nervously in his stall. The rain still made him crazy even after all his training. Jolene couldn't much blame him. But unlike him, for reasons she could not fathom, she loved to stand on her parents' front porch and watch the rain come in. You could see it for miles before it arrived. If the sun was shining through any clouds she could almost always see a rainbow somewhere along the rolling hills.
Patrick had wanted to book hotel rooms and take Big Storm a day early like most of the horse owners did, but Jolene insisted they would get up early and take Big Storm the day of the Derby. He would not sleep well in a strange barn. And apparently the lightning storms were even worse in Louisville.
Storm had to be seen by doctors and have a few tests, so they got up just at 3:00 a.m. and loaded him….he was fighting them hard because of the rain, lightning and thunder. But they did get him into the trailer with a great deal of coaxing by Jolene.
They were taking a couple of trailers with everything in them, including her Derby uniform. It was red, gold and white and it bore the coat of arms of the Earl of Meath. Patrick said the title was created in 1627. It was embroidered on the back of her jockey shirt. Patrick had it special made and Jolene was certain she had never worn anything so fine. The coat of arms was red scrolls with a night's helmet on top and three birds across a flag.
At the top of the coat of arms it read Vota Vita Mea. Patrick told her that it meant.
Prayers are my life.
The rain stopped while they were driving but Jolene fretted about Big Storm continuing to prance in his trailer even in the small space he was in.
Jolene had never been so scared in her life. Her fingers shook when she adjusted the radio and her heart pounded the entire trip.
Patrick didn't seem much better though he tried to hide his emotions. He was quiet and serious in a way Jolene had never witnessed.
Bernie and Herbert attempted to lighten things by making jokes in the big Ford SUV. They even resorted to playing some of Patrick's favorite Irish ballads on cd.
Entering Louisville, even this early in the morning with the sun barely coming up beyond the tall white spires, people were already waiving their signs.
"Park here for $20."
Children ran around in their front yards in bare feet excited about Derby day even if they had only ever viewed Churchill Downs from the outside. Its white towers that could be seen for miles like a double church steeple, shadowed the surrounding neighborhoods. Churchill Downs was their lifeblood and the Derby brought in the pretty people in suits, dresses and hats parking and walking by. Those pretty people who came to the Derby were part of another kind of life that was different and spectacular.
Barbeques were smoking and homemade signs were hung with balloons that read "Stop here for barbeque and beer."
Nearly all of the little wooden houses were decorated for the big day. Since Churchill Downs sat in the middle of an older city of residential homes, its tenants were an intricate part of the Derby. Every house had people preparing for the races.
They were poor houses.
But not on Derby day.
Everybody put on their best shine and made their money on Derby Day.
Even this early in the morning the women who sat on the porches or manned the barbeques wore tank tops and shorts, the wardrobe staple of the south. Men wore white tee shirts and jeans sporting their exotic tattoos. Sometimes their arms and shoulders were completely covered in ink with symbols, signs and pictures intermingled in a complex raw beauty to tell a story that only they completely understood.
They watched the scenes of the Derby in individual vicarious positions where they could also dance within the moment with those pretty people who parked and walked past them to the front gate, or rode in hired golf carts, waving and friendly when on other days they might be afraid.
Jolene was always one of them. The one running in bare feet seeing the world vicariously and not truly understanding what it was to live their lives.
Until Patrick.
Until this moment.
She wasn't just at the Derby.
She was going to be in it.
Riding Big Storm.
Just like her father had dreamed about the day Storm was born.
Jolene turned her face away from the window shaking her mental voyage. She would not take any journey right now except the one to the finish line at Churchill Downs. One thing her father always told her about being a jockey was, "You have to focus and put everything out of your head but the horse. Feel him. Know him. Become him."
If you are distracted Jolene, he will be distracted too. Forget the tank tops and the poor children with short fuzzy red hair running with no shoes. Don't worry about who is going to park on the lawn or whether they will sell barbeque. God takes care of all things big and small.
They had pinned Jolene's wild hair tightly and her head was already smarting from the countless barrettes and pins Mata had nervously poked all over her scalp. She came dressed already in her jockey outfit, not wanting a scene with the other jockeys just in case they shared a locker room.
Besides, she didn't want to talk to any of them anyway unless it was necessary.
It was another distraction she didn't need.
They unloaded Big Storm and sent Jolene off with the other jockeys to the waiting room. In the waiting room no one communicated with her other than eye contact and a nod. But she couldn't blame them after all. They all knew each other. Raced together. It was a club and she was not one of them.
A few smiled and wished her well.
She smiled back and returned the kindness.
She soon took to pacing around the room in her little white pants, thankful she was slender and not very tall for a woman because she was certain she was the biggest one in this room.
Good thing Big Storm was big.
Chapter 9
A match race had been offered and agreed upon between the 3-year-old sensation Man o'War and the older champion Sir Barton, who dominated his crop at 3 and 4. The previous season, Sir Barton had won the Kentucky Derby, Preakness, and Belmont Stakes, before that race became known as "the Triple Crown" of American racing. In the match race at 10 furlongs, known as the Kenilworth Park Gold Cup, Man o'War ran Sir Barton off his feet and won by 7 lengths in a humiliating display of superiority. That said, Sir Barton was giving the year-younger colt 6 pounds and was suffering a flare up of chronic hoof problems at the time. A film of the race shows Sir Barton floundering behind Man o'War the entire trip, looking like a beaten horse every step of the way.
That final victory marked the end of Man o'War's race career, of 20 wins in 21 starts and $249,465 in earnings, a new record. Owner Riddle opted to retire him at this young age rather than face the crushing weights the handicappers had promised to impose on the red horse to make it fair for his opposition. Man o'War retired to Hinata Farm, north of Lexington, Kentucky which Riddle leased while shopping for a farm of his own. The horse and his retinue of mares and youngstock was relocated to Faraway Farm a couple of years later where Man o'War remained one of the biggest tourist attractions in the state until his death. Thoroughbred Heritage Portraits - July 23, 2012.
It all became a blur after that.
Out to the paddock following Patrick. Big Storm was waiting for her in stall number 19. Bad pole position…but it didn't matter, he'd do it. He'd make up the difference.
Big storm was already sweating. His eyes were rolling and his head tossing no matter that Bernie tried to sooth him. And Bernie was the only one besides her and Patrick that could do anything at all with Storm.
Bernie was nervous as heck too. He had worked with Jolene even before the trainers started coming and even before Jolene talked to Shannon about riding Storm in the Derby. Bernie was going to marry Isha in just a few weeks so he had been doing double time t
o help her and Storm get ready while helping Isha with the wedding plans.
Storm leaned down to her and she cuddled his head. He was scared and he knew she was afraid which made him prance around even more.
"It's all right Big Man," she soothed through the din and loud colors of people in fancy hats and colorful clothing that stood in the middle of the paddock and around the perimeter, staring, smiling and waving.
Patrick leaned down to her. "You okay Little Red?"
"I don't like this much Patrick," Jolene whispered into his ear clutching his arm.
Patrick chuckled softly. "I don't like so much action me-self." Bernie looked at them with dark solemn eyes. "He needs another round." Patrick nodded and Bernie took Big Storm on another turn around the paddock.
"I need to go talk to those important people," Patrick said quietly, patted her shoulder and walked to the center of the paddock where large groups of people mingled and took photos.
Jolene was too focused on Bernie and Storm to think much about Patrick and the fancy people. She was lost in a dream as she watched them walk the paddock. She heard thunder and looked up at the darkening sky. Storm tried to rear up but Bernie skillfully handled him.
The white spires towered to the left and there were so many people pressing into the paddock fence. They were staring intently. There was so much noise and too much activity. She wanted to scream to Bernie to bring Storm back to her. He was tossing his head and his eyes were rolling as he attempted to turn to the individual sounds of the crowd as he passed.
The dark clouds had followed them from Paris and they came in on a hard wind. Storm reared up again but Bernie kept his feet from leaving the ground.
When Storm and Bernie returned, Bernie was limping. "Your leg okay Bernie?" Jolene asked quietly. "Did Storm kick you?" Bernie didn't like people paying attention to his missing leg. "Oh no, just a little sore is all. I am starting the long training process to get ready to run the marathon."
They backed Storm into the stall and held his head facing out. Bernie brushed Storm and adjusted his tack speaking low and soft in his deep baritone voice.
In the center of the paddock Patrick smiled for photographs for several moments with other people and by himself. He seemed to know everyone.
He wore a white silk suit with a red shirt underneath and a bow tie of white to match his suit. He had his family coat of arms on a pin tacked to his lapel. He was chatting and animated. He was so … elegant and beautiful standing there.
As if he felt her scrutiny, Patrick caught her eye then and he made apologies and walked toward her with power, grace and purpose.
Patrick was well-designed and more handsome than ever. She had seen him in his jeans so much on the farm. Of course he always looked beautiful there…even in jeans. But Patrick knew how to walk so that he looked just like a prince. Or an Earl. In this unlikely moment dressed as he was, he took her breath away.
"Yer sure yer okay Red? Ya know it isn't too late to change yer mind….I'd not be mad at you. It is too late to get Calvin, he has a horse, but we can just take Storm home and make him a stud."
Jolene tore her eyes away from his and looked up at the dark clouds that sat behind the white spires that defined Churchill Downs. "I will not be changing my mind and neither will Storm."
Time stood still for a few seconds. The wind blew hard.
Then it was time.
Patrick helped her up on Storm. Bernie mounted his own horse and road next to her along with the assistant horse and rider.
Patrick looked up at her with grave purple-blue eyes. "Now don't you be taking any risks do yer hear me? Yer hang on tight and don't worry about winning if anything goes wrong."
Jolene was looking at Patrick through a long tunnel. Nothing seemed real. She patted Storm who pranced under the darkening windy sky.
"I'll hold on tight Patrick."
Patrick looked up at the clouds. "He's never liked the rain, guess he never will. I don't like sending yer out with the rain coming in. Don't you take any risks, yer hear me?"
"You have already said that too many times. Don't worry about me Patrick."
For once she was not completely distracted by Patrick. His beautiful eyes with thick black lashes were worried. His hand shook as he adjusted Storm's strap and patted her leg. But Jolene was too beyond afraid to dwell. In fact, she had moved to terrified…or maybe petrified.
No. She felt nothing at all.
It was time to go.
She followed the other horses her heart pounding in her ears and her limbs tingling. Fortunately, she could ride a horse in her sleep. They left the paddock and went toward the tunnel lined with people.
We got here Daddy. Just like you always talked about.
Storm swung his head side to side as they went down the alley that was bricked off from the crowd.
Beautiful ladies in elegant hats were waving from behind the chain link fence.
Men in suits that she only saw in books stood next to them, looking earnestly at the horses, in a final-scene moment to predict which one it would be.
What were Storm's odds? She didn't even know. Did Patrick even tell her?
Did it matter?
She had always known his odds.
They made the walk and Patrick joined them as the owner, holding Storm's reigns. He and Bernie stood on either side of Storm and walked with him to the gate…around the ring, past the crowds.
There were so many people and they were so loud.
Daddy, I don't know if I can.
You can my little girl. He is Dancer's Dream and our dream.
They arrived at the gate.
Big Storm reared up. He pranced and he danced high on his hooves while they pushed the other horses in. She took him on another small circle with Patrick looking on like the world was soon to end. Bernie walked with her and talked in low tones to Big Storm.
Each time they tried to put him in the gate he shied and pranced.
"Don't force him Bernie, let's not force him." It was her voice, but she sounded far away even to her own ears.
The sprinkles came light.
Time was running out.
"Go in Big Storm, go in. We practiced…this is no different."
Several jockey heads turned toward her voice.
When was the last time a girl raced, if ever?
Storm neighed softly and stepped cautiously into the gate on dancing legs. "Now there is my boy."
The gun sounded within seconds of them getting in. The gates opened with a uniform clap.
She wasn't ready.
Something stuck and she felt herself slide to the side of the saddle.
She heard the tear of fabric. Big Storm busted from the gate and Jolene barely missed hitting her head on the pole. She clung to his side.
He looked back with his big round black eyes.
His eyes said…."like get on and ride!"
But she couldn't pull herself up. And they were in the back…really very far in the back.
It was a struggle to climb on his back and get herself back into position. But when she did he lunged forward in a deep jump.
Jolene leaned forward, feeling his burst of power. She closed her eyes for an instant.
It had rained hard that day. Behind her lids, she saw that terrible day in a flash clear picture.
She felt the pain that near cut her in half…and this time she let it hurt. It was time to let it hurt and ride it out as fast as she could.
Jolene didn't take him to the center. He didn't need it. She gave him space to use his full leg span.
First turn.
They moved to the middle of the pack. She didn't look anywhere but forward…seeing the horses in front of her…the dirt…the hooves.
Hang on tight!
Were they almost all in front of her? Every single one dammit?
Don't cuss Jolene.
Pray hard.
Holy Mary, Mother of God…I can't remember the rest…even though I said it a million t
imes.
Stop thinking, press forward.
Long stretch.
Big Storm puffed in perfect rhythm like a big steam engine. She followed him in movement caressing his spirit with her own.
She leaned close to his head and whispered to him softly, "It is time."
The lightening cracked and the thunder rolled.
Storm leapt forward and it was all Jolene could do to hold on and keep her seat. That is all one could do with Storm once he decided on something important. The rain deepened.
Rain from Heaven.
Tears of sadness and tears of joy.
Last turn.
Jolene leaned forward and put her head down clinging to Storm with all of her strength. He had lost his head and wouldn't do anything she wanted.
Don't fall.
Jolene leaned down as far as she could go…he was passing the other horses now…lots of them…she felt his strides lengthen even more. It was close but he was on the outside and had plenty of space.
"Go," Jolene whispered. He completely took back his head, only letting it go at the same time.
His stride lengthened even more and he gained speed.
The mud was hitting her and Storm. And her new uniform. But what did it matter?
But of course they had run in the rain so many times.
Running away from a memory…but chasing a dream.
There was only one horse in front, the predicted winner. Crazy Sal.
Go Dancer's Dream.
It was all a blur then. They rode right by Crazy Sal as if he was standing still. Jolene saw the finish line just a second before they passed it.
Once Upon a Misty Bluegrass Hill Page 8
