Jockey Girl

by Shelley Peterson

  Her father could go from smiling to white rage in two seconds. Worse, she was never exactly sure what would cause his anger or how he would react. He was able to reduce her to jelly with a whisper.

  It had always been like that. When Evie was eight, she had a paint pony named Chiquita. She loved her with all her heart, and used to climb on her bareback in the field and go for little jaunts when nobody was around. Her father disapproved. One day, he caught her at it. Without saying a word, he grabbed Chiquita by her halter and began to beat her with a whip. The pony was frantic. Evie begged him to stop. It didn’t make sense. He should punish her, not the pony. It was her fault, not Chiquita’s. Her pleas fell on deaf ears.

  Grayson Gibb knew that the most effective way to make his point was to hurt the animals Evie loved. She never rode Chiquita again without permission, but she also never trusted her father again. He baffled her. He made her wary. He’d taught her a lesson that day. There was only one way to survive, and that was to keep quiet and as far away from him as possible.

  And then, there was her stepmother. Evie sighed in frustration. Paulina was much less complicated but totally irritating. Evie was eight years old when Paulina had moved to Maple Mills with her daughter, Beatrice, and made it very clear that Beatrice was the princess of the house, not Evie. Simply put, Paulina and Evie had never gotten along.

  The birth of their brother, Jordie, had helped a little because it tied the family together — Evie was Grayson’s kid, Beatrice was Paulina’s kid, and Jordie was both. It also helped that Jordie was such a nice kid. Aside from Jordie, Evie’s family life was a mess. She shook her head to erase the images of her unpredictable father and selfish stepmother. Anyway, that was old news.

  The new news was that she’d totally embarrassed herself at school. Actually, “embarrassed” didn’t cover it a fraction, thought Evie. Try “mortified.” She blushed deep red just thinking about it.

  It had all started when her friend Amelia told her that Mark Sellers liked her. So she asked him to a party. He told Evie that he couldn’t go and then said snarky things about her to Amelia, who thought they were funny and posted them on her Facebook wall. It was awful. Really awful.

  When Evie read how everybody, even her so-called best friends Cassie, Hilary, and Rebecca, plus kids at other schools, jumped on the bandwagon, she panicked and hurled her cellphone from the school bus window into the Credit River in Cheltenham. She didn’t want to know how crazy they thought she was to imagine that Mark, a really popular guy, would want anything to do with her.

  Immediately, she’d rued her impulsive reaction. If she could’ve leaped into the river after her cell, she would’ve. Now she had no phone, no connection with school, and no way to know what was going on. She couldn’t even check Facebook, because she wasn’t allowed to use the computer at home. Worst of all, she had no idea if she had any friends left. Evie’s face twisted with regret as she pictured her phone at the bottom of the deep, fast-flowing river. Too late now, she thought.

  Whatever, the fact remained that Mark Sellers had made it impossible for her to return to school. Jerk.

  Evie allowed herself to wallow a bit. It’d be nice to have a mother at a time like this. Someone whose shoulder she could cry on. A loving mother who would help her figure out what to do.

  She patted Kazzam’s neck as they walked along the country road. “You are the only good thing in my life.”

  Kazzam, a.k.a. No Justice, was a Thoroughbred of impeccable breeding and great speed, a descendant of some of the great sires. But he also had a problem. Twice he’d bucked jockeys off in a race, and twice was once too many. His future was now in question. But Evie loved Kazzam because of his problems, not in spite of them. It was like they recognized each other as misfits. He was a kindred spirit. She couldn’t explain it any other way.

  He had spunk, and Evie admired that. He held his head with pride and he strutted like a champ. Of the thirty horses on the farm, it was Kazzam who caught Evie’s eye. She stroked his neck again as they ambled along.

  Six months earlier, Kazzam kicked a groom across the aisle of the barn. The groom howled in anger and grabbed a broom to smack the horse. Something in Kazzam’s eye alerted her that the broom would only escalate to war, so she stepped between it and the horse and stopped the blow by grabbing the broom. The groom begged her not to report him. Evie assured him that she would not.

  That was the day she’d nicknamed him Kazzam, because it was like they’d made a magical connection. From that moment on, Kazzam looked at her as his friend. He allowed her to handle him easily, unlike any other person.

  After that incident, the exercise riders were only too happy to let her bathe him and cool him down after workouts. And she’d never forget the first time she got on his back. Never had she dreamed of such athleticism, such muscular tension. Even at an easy walk, she could feel his power!

  Then, on June 1, her sixteenth birthday, several events coincided, causing a plan of action to form in her head. Her association with Kazzam became serious.

  Firstly, that day he dumped a jockey at the starting gate for the second time in a stakes race, causing him to be banned from racing by the Ontario Jockey Club. His training schedule was immediately discontinued.

  Secondly, she noticed a poster advertising the Caledon Horse Race at McCarron’s feed store, with a thousand-dollar prize. Come one, come all, it read. Register at the gate.

  Thirdly, later that very same day, their housekeeper, Sella, delivered a very special birthday card to her. It was from an aunt she’d never known.

  Until the moment she read the brief note written in her great-aunt Mary’s scrawling hand, she’d believed what her father had told her all her life — that her mother was dead.

  Evie knew the words of the note by heart:

  Dearest Evangeline,

  I wish you a very happy birthday. Sweet sixteen already! How the time has flown. Your mother always tells me how very proud she is of you. Please send me a picture! I’m sure you’re a beautiful girl, since you were such a beautiful baby, and so much like Angela.

  With much love, in hopes that this card will get to you,

  your great-aunt Mary

  Aunt Mary had written that Angela tells her, not told her how proud she is of her daughter. And that Evie’s mother is proud of her, not was. Present tense, not past!

  Immediately, Evie had called the number that was on the bottom of the card. It had a Toronto area code. Aunt Mary instantly invited Evie to come for a visit. And she said she could lead her to Angela. Evie was thrilled.

  She’d run to her father to tell him, expecting him to be happy to get rid of her for a weekend, but he’d shut her down. He’d called Aunt Mary “an interfering old trouble-making bat,” adding that she was “deranged and delusional.” According to Grayson Gibb, any relative of Angela’s was mentally ill.

  To tell the truth, Evie had considered this possibility. She’d heard nothing good about her mother’s side of the family. Ever. Could Aunt Mary be in denial, unable to accept the fact of Angela’s death? Or could she be trying to cause trouble, like her father said?

  Evie resolved to cast caution to the wind. Aunt Mary sounded very nice and perfectly sane. The way Evie saw the situation, she had nothing to lose and everything to gain. All she needed was the money to get herself to Toronto.

  That’s where Kazzam came in, and the Caledon race.

  That same night, on the evening of her sixteenth birthday, she’d started taking Kazzam out on the practice track, late, when nobody saw. She couldn’t ask for advice. Nobody must know what she was doing. So she’d watched how the experts did it and copied them as best she could.

  And they’d won! Evie sat up in the saddle and straightened her shoulders with a full inhalation. Winning the Caledon Horse Race sure felt good. The money in Evie’s pocket felt good, too. She patted the large envelope to be sure it was still there. If her mother, Angela, was alive, Evie would find her, starting with a visit to Aunt Mary i
n Toronto. Kazzam had done his part already. And nobody would ever know.

  A familiar voice broke into her reverie.

  “Hey, Evie!”

  She emerged from her daydreams and looked around.

  The waving arm of Yolanda Schmits protruded from the open window of a royal-blue truck hauling a royal- blue horse trailer with the white lettering “Maple Mills Stables.”

  Evie waved back. “Hey, Yoyo!” Yolanda had worked at Maple Mills ever since Evie could remember. She’d run away from home at fifteen and had worked at the track until she’d got the job with them.

  “Need a lift? I got the rig safety-checked this morning and I’m heading home.”

  “Great!” The truck’s air conditioning was a nice thought, and Kazzam would probably appreciate a ride back.

  Yolanda stepped out and opened the back ramp of the trailer, while Evie slid to the ground and removed Kazzam’s saddle. Yolanda took it from her and put it in the tack section.

  Evie led the tired horse onto the trailer, slid the bridle over his ears, and let him spit out the bit. Kazzam licked his mouth and rubbed his forehead on her arm.

  “You’re a great horse. Nobody can say otherwise now.” Evie clipped on the halter, scratched his ears, and then gave his neck a hug. “See you at home.” His watchful right eye followed her out.

  Once Evie had lifted the ramp and fastened the clamps, they were on their way.

  “Soo, what are you doing so far from the farm?” asked Yolanda, casually looking her over.

  Evie removed her helmet and shook out her sweaty, long red hair. “Thought I’d take No Justice for a hack. He never gets out.”

  Yolanda made a phuh noise with her lips. “Only because he’s the spookiest horse on the planet.”

  “Not always.”

  Yolanda raised an eyebrow. “He never dumps you and races home. That’s why the jocks hate you.”

  “Lucky me, I guess.”

  “Okay, Evie. Truth time. You’re a mess. You were racing.” It wasn’t a question.

  Evie didn’t answer.

  “You want clues? Grimy streaks down your face. Dust and dirt all over your clothes.” Yolanda shot her another sideways glance. “I won’t tell anybody. You know I won’t. The truth, Evie. The Caledon Horse Race.”

  The old black sedan came up fast, passing on their left and spraying gravel. Evie ducked in time. He would’ve caught up to them for sure if Yolanda hadn’t picked them up. Evie pulled some McDonald’s napkins from the glove compartment and worked at removing the dirt from her freckled face.

  “You think a spit bath will help?”

  Evie pursed her lips and said nothing. It would be much better for Yolanda if she didn’t know. That way she wouldn’t be an accomplice if Evie was caught.

  “I was listening to the Erin station while I was waiting at the garage. Heard the Caledon Race. The whole thing.”

  “Oh?” Evie pretended innocence. “Who won?”

  “A sixteen-year-old girl named Molly Peebles. Riding a small black horse. It’s all over the news.” Yolanda glanced at Evie for a reaction. “They say she’s deaf.”

  Deaf? Evie found a brush in the console and started the job of disentangling her matted hair. “Really.”

  “Go ahead and admit it.” Yolanda’s voice was serious. “Everybody and his brother is wondering about Molly Peebles. It’s a big mystery. A curiosity. Hard to keep it secret for long.”

  “I can trust you, Yoyo. I know I can. But I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

  “Like it would be the first time?” Yolanda snorted.

  Evie was sorely tempted to tell her all about it. In fact, she was bursting to share the thrills and all the details, from sneaking Kazzam out of the field early that morning to eluding the reporters. The shaky start. Losing her stirrups. Catching up. Crossing the finish line first.

  But this was bigger than just racing her father’s horse without permission. Evie was about to run away from home. If Yolanda knew anything about it, she’d lose her job.

  Up ahead, the old black sedan sat idling on the side of the road. Evie pretended to be busy looking through some imaginary papers on her lap and snuck a peek as they drove past. The driver, a man, was on his cellphone, and he was definitely one of the reporters. The one with the scruffy chin. She watched through the side mirror as he pulled out and followed them.

  “Okay,” said Yolanda. “Why do you care who that is?”

  “I don’t.”

  Yolanda sighed. “You’re such a bad liar.”

  They drove in silence as they turned onto the side road and travelled along the white, four-board horse-fences that enclosed the pristine pastures of Maple Mills Stables. At the entrance, they waited while the big white gates, activated by the remote on the dash, slowly opened.

  Evie saw in the side mirror that the black sedan was right behind them.

  “Do you want to talk to this guy?” asked Yolanda.

  “Not really.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll deal with him.” Yolanda stopped the rig halfway through the entrance and approached the reporter’s car window.

  “May I help you?” she asked. Her voice was pleasant.

  Evie couldn’t hear what the man said.

  “I have no idea if he’s available, Mr. Reynolds.”

  Again Evie could hear only a mumbled response, but then the man got out of his car and Evie heard him clearly. “I’m working on a story. A soft story, a good news story about a girl and her horse.” He edged closer to the window of the horse trailer. Evie got worried. If he caught a glimpse of the dirt-caked black racehorse, she’d be busted for sure.

  She decided to take a risk. She checked the mirror to be sure her face was acceptably clean, then jumped out and strode around to face Yoyo and the reporter. “What is the delay, Yolanda?” She tossed her head and tried to mimic her stepmother’s impatient, spoiled tone. She thought she got the faux society accent just right.

  Yoyo’s eyes widened.

  Close up, Evie assessed the reporter as decent-looking and youngish, with grey eyes and floppy dark hair. He held out his hand for her to shake. “Chet Reynolds. I’m —”

  Evie ignored his hand, and spoke to Yolanda. “We’re already late.” Then, as if it was an afterthought, she asked the reporter, “Do you have an appointment with anyone?”

  “No, but I have a few ques—”

  “Then I suggest you call before you come back.” She handed him one of the Maple Mills Racing Stables cards that were kept in the console of the truck. Evie aped the fake smile her stepmother used when dismissing staff. “Come, Yolanda.” Evie tossed her head again for good measure and got back in the truck.

  Her heart rate was elevated, but her mission was accomplished. The reporter backed his car out onto the road and departed.

  Yolanda climbed in and drove through. The gates swung shut behind them. “Scary imitation.”

  Evie laughed in a burst of release. “Don’t worry. I’m still me.”

  They slowly drove up the long lane edged with maple trees and white horse-fences. Elegant Thoroughbred horses grazed and relaxed in the trimmed paddocks.

  “That guy won’t disappear so easily,” warned Yolanda. “I can feel trouble coming.”

  “Like it would be the first time,” joked Evie.

  Yolanda didn’t smile. “You better be careful. Paulina would love you to screw up, and your father is having no luck with his horses. He’s in a bad mood. You know it.”

  Nothing could take the joy out of Evie more quickly than the thought of Grayson Gibb. She slumped as she gazed out the truck window. “Was he always so horrible?”

  Yolanda answered thoughtfully. “He was okay when I first came to work here. Charming, actually. People always think that when they meet him. I always hear how handsome and charming my boss is.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Hard to know. He’s a control freak. And a tough boss.” She sniffed. “Cross him and you’re fired. But the staff tho
ught he got even worse after your mother got sick.”

  “Do you remember her?” Evie asked.

  Yolanda shot her a sideways glance. “Angela? Of course. We all loved her. She was smart and friendly, and pretty, too. She was good to us. Grayson Gibb couldn’t help what happened to her. I think he tried. It drove him nuts.”

  “What did happen to her?”

  “I don’t know. She got sick and then she was gone.”

  That was all anybody ever said about her mother, Evie thought. “Standard line. I wish I could remember her.”

  “You were so small. Sella was great, but you wanted your mother. I felt so bad for you.” Yolanda’s voice wavered. “Look, Angela just disappeared one day. A few weeks later we were told she was dead.” She gripped the wheel. “It happened so quickly. We were all shocked.”

  “Didn’t she talk to anybody about what was going on? While she was sick? Somebody must know!”

  “Mr. Gibb controlled access. Nobody in, nobody out.Angela was isolated. He made a firewall around her.”

  Evie felt very sad for her mother, sick and alone. She had only a few fleeting impressions of a loving smile and comforting warmth. And laughter. Lots of laughter. Evie’s stomach tightened as she realized that laughter was missing entirely in her house now. It sounded like a small thing but it was big, she thought. The sound of laughter could fill any house, big or small, with joy, and without it, a house was empty.

  She hoped she’d been a good child, perhaps a bit of sunshine in her mother’s life. But maybe she’d been a wilful, rotten child, like her father said.

  “Funny thing is, he thinks he has better luck controlling his second wife.” Yolanda smiled wryly.

  Before Evie could ask what she meant, Paulina Gibb herself appeared, riding her favourite show hunter in a lesson with Kerry Goodham, her most recent and most handsome coach.

  The grass in the jumping paddock was impeccably mown and the jumps were freshly painted and well maintained. Paulina’s horse was named Lord Percy. He was a glossy, elegant dark bay with a thin white blaze on his face. They were jumping a course with ten obstacles set up at a height of a metre ten. They did it with ease — relaxed and steady, and getting all their distances and leads.