Jockey Girl

by Shelley Peterson

  Paulina looked great on him, Evie had to admit, with her smart black blouse, well-cut tan breeches, and black boots. Her dark hair was tucked up into her riding helmet and she rode like she knew what she was doing.

  Kerry Goodham was short and compact. He was probably in his late twenties, Evie guessed, and neatly dressed in tan breeches, polished brown boots, and a dark green golf shirt. His blond hair was cut long over his ears, and his white teeth flashed in his tanned face.

  Paulina’s white teeth flashed back at him.

  Evie watched this scene objectively as they passed. Even though she cringed every time she was near the woman, Paulina really was right out of a Ralph Lauren ad.

  Evie’s mind went back to her mother. “Odd that you didn’t know what was happening. I mean, you were here.”

  Yolanda paused for a second. “I was a teenager, and scared of Mr. Gibb. I didn’t dare defy his orders.” Yolanda reached out and patted Evie’s shoulder. “I know one thing. She loved you more than the world itself.”

  Evie lifted her chin defensively. “Dad doesn’t have anything good to say about her.”

  “Don’t let him get to you, girl. He loved her, too, before. Angela was a fine woman. Seriously fine.”

  “Did you see her leave?” Evie asked. She wanted to picture it, to imagine that day.

  “No. It was my day off. But I was told there was a big fuss at the house, cops and all, and lots of yelling.”

  “Cops? Yelling?” This was new. “About what?”

  “I don’t know. We were all forbidden to talk about it. Forbidden to mention Angela’s name. Then she was gone. Time passed, as I said, and we were told she’d died.”

  “I wish I knew more.”

  “I promise, I don’t know anything except what I’ve just told you. I’d tell you if I did.”

  The rig approached the long, white racing stables with royal-blue Dutch doors at every stall and a matching blue roof. It had been designed with a walking porch along both sides, which gave each stall shade in the summer when the top doors were open, and shelter from the wind in the winter. The gardeners had planted red flowers along the path and hung red geraniums at the entrance and at each post of the porch.

  Yolanda stopped the truck at the stable entrance She looked directly at Evie. “I know you raced today, Evie. And won. I’m proud of you for that, but what I don’t know is why you think you can get away with it.” She spoke with concern. “You’re playing with fire. Call me when you need me. Trust me, you will.”

  3

  Maple Mills

  There was truth in Yolanda’s warning, Evie thought as she stepped down from the truck. After dropping the ramp, she ducked through the side door of the trailer and stood beside her horse. She rubbed Kazzam’s face and ears as she fought tears, confused and uncertain.

  Evie backed the black horse off. He stood still while she raised the ramp back into place and attached the clips. She waved to Yolanda, who nodded with a worried frown on her face and drove the rig away.

  “I hope I’m doing the right thing, Kazzam,” Evie whispered, stroking his neck. “Let’s go to the barn. I’ll give you a nice bath and a bran mash.”

  In response, Kazzam nuzzled her arm with his nose. He watched her with his big brown eyes, and she gazed back, recognizing that he’d given her his trust over everyone else.

  Evie led the horse into the airy, cool stable. The ceiling fans twirled slowly overhead as Kazzam’s hooves clip-clopped over the cobblestones. She walked him into the wash stall, turned him around to face the aisle, then ran the water until it was warm. With soap and a rubber scrubbing glove, Evie washed and massaged every inch of the black horse, from behind his ears to his ankles, and from his nose to the tip of his tail.

  He stood quietly, relaxed and enjoying the attention. He particularly liked having his back massaged, so Evie continued working on it. Kazzam’s head dropped. He yawned and licked his lips.

  She hosed him down with warm water until his coat squeaked, scraped off the excess water, and rubbed his legs down with diluted liniment. She should’ve poulticed his legs and wrapped them, but then it would’ve been too obvious that he’d raced.

  “Are you ready for your bran mash?”

  He looked at her through half-closed eyes. Evie smiled. She traced the white heart on his forehead lovingly. “And then an afternoon nap in your clean stall?”

  At the same instant, Evie and Kazzam heard brisk horse and human footsteps approaching. Les Merton, the stable manager, came up leading the pride of the stable, Thymetofly. “There’s No Justice. I wondered.”

  Evie stiffened. “Is it turn-in time already?” she asked innocently. “I thought I’d give him a bath.”

  “This horse is not a toy, Evie. I’ve told you before. It’s your father’s orders. You should not be handling him.”

  “We get along,” she said, quietly exhaling. Phew. He hadn’t noticed him missing until now. And nobody had seen him dirty with sweat and dust except Yolanda.

  “Yes, you do get along, Evie. But he kicks without warning and bucks people off.” Les looked stern. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s dangerous.”

  Evie nodded. “I understand.”

  “Handle any other horse, Evie. Ride any of the others, but No Justice? He’s finished.” Les continued along the aisle with Thymetofly, shaking his head. The grooms began to bring in horses from their morning turnout, and the barn became filled with chatter and the clatter of shod hooves. The quiet moments that Evie and Kazzam had shared were over.

  Evie unclipped the cross-ties from his halter and led Kazzam to his stall. If he was going to get his mash, she’d have to do it before anybody asked questions. Each horse had a special diet for its particular workload, and nobody tampered with the feed schedule. Of course, nobody knew Kazzam had been in a race, either.

  She hurried into the feed room and mixed a scoop of bran with hot water and stirred in some sweet feed and extra molasses, with carrots as a bonus. When nobody was looking she sidled into Kazzam’s stall and dumped it into his bowl.

  Kazzam had it half finished when a menacing voice startled her. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Her father. She looked up at the tall, neatly dressed, dark-haired man with chiselled features. His eyes squinted into slits. She remembered Chiquita and the whip and put herself between her father and Kazzam.

  Grayson Gibb was a man who smiled with his mouth but not his eyes. In spite of his imposing manner, he had a high-pitched voice. When angry, he didn’t yell, he whispered and sort of growled. Like Clint Eastwood, or Christopher Walken with a hint of Willem Dafoe from the old movies. It was downright frightening.

  He wasn’t smiling now. “Les told me you were here. Get out of that stall this minute.”

  “Hi, Dad,” said Evie. She tried to appear calm.

  “I said get out. Are you deaf?”

  Deaf again. Evie suppressed a nervous giggle as she stepped out of the stall. She stood in front of Kazzam’s feed bowl to hide the mash from her father’s prying eyes.

  “Wipe that stupid grin off your face.”

  She forced herself to meet his eyes.

  “You’ve defied my orders. Never, ever, go near this animal again.”

  “I know, Dad. I’m sorry. But he’s gentle with me.”

  “Just who do you think you are?” Grayson Gibb glared down at her from his full height. His whispery, yet harsh voice echoed through the stables. “You think you have the magic touch? That you’re better than all my grooms and jockeys?” He sneered at her and turned on his heel. “Get out of my sight.”

  Evie stood still, listening to her father’s retreating footsteps. Her stomach ached as if she’d been punched.

  Kazzam nickered. She put her hand through the bars and rubbed his forehead. “Get a good rest, boy. You deserve it.”

  Evie walked out of the stable with her eyes down. All the staff had heard her father’s demeaning words.

  She slouched up the winding walkway
to the big house, downcast. The white colonial mansion with its gracious verandas had been built on a gentle rise to catch the sun from east to west. The lawns and gardens were immaculate, with large shade trees — maples, for which Maple Mills was named — adding grace and coolness to the wide expanses of green. It was welcoming and hospitable, belying the nature of the family that lived within its walls. At least that’s what Evie thought.

  Now she had another worry besides her father finding out about the race. She’d defied his direct orders to stay away from Kazzam, and she’d been caught. Would he take it out on the horse, like he did Chiquita, to make his point?

  Just last February one of the young racehorses had refused to get on the old trailer used to teach them how to load. Evie and a young groom had tried every trick in the book, from patience to bribery to subtle urging with a broom. Grayson showed up and told them to get it done. Evie replied that it would take a little more time. Grayson was not pleased.

  They were horrified to see Grayson winch the horse to the tractor with ropes and haul him up by brute force. The horse broke his leg and had to be destroyed. It turned out that the trailer had an unstable floor, which is why the poor animal had balked. None of this bothered Grayson. Nobody was allowed to question his orders.

  Self-doubt filled her mind. Was she going about this in the right way? Should she just confront her father and tell him that she wanted to find her mother? But why risk making him madder? He hated the mere mention of Angela’s name. He’d never even shown Evie pictures of her.

  No. She would have to find out for herself. Fifteen hundred and eighty dollars would more than do it. Evie began to smile a little at the thought. And the sight of those three men in bright racing silks with their mouths wide open as mighty little Kazzam sped past! Evie found herself chuckling aloud at the memory.

  “Why so happy, carrot-head?”

  Evie spun to look directly into the face of her stepsister, Beatrice. The girl was standing in the shade of a lilac bush. Evie would’ve walked right by had she not spoken.

  Beatrice was twelve, dark-haired, delicate, and graceful. Everything she did, she did perfectly. She’d won the gold medal in her first gymnastics competition. As soon as she’d begun dance classes, her instructor had asked her to be one of the background dancers in a television show. In the family, it was understood that she was perfect. It had been that way since the day she’d arrived.

  Suddenly self-conscious, Evie slumped. She was five-foot-six and Beatrice was barely five feet tall. She felt too tall around her. And too clumsy. And too freckly and too red-haired. “Happy? I was just thinking about something.”

  “Must’ve been funny.” Beatrice sat on the stone bench beside the path and held out a toasted whole-wheat bagel slathered with cream cheese. “I don’t want this. Do you?”

  Evie was suddenly ravenous. She’d been up since five that morning and hadn’t eaten since the muffin and banana she’d grabbed on her way out the door. “Yes! Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.” Beatrice sniffed. “It’s my second. Sella’s trying to fatten me up.”

  “Happy to help,” said Evie as she took a big bite and sat down beside her. “Thanks. I’m really hungry.”

  “She keeps pushing food at me. I’m just naturally thin.” Beatrice crossed her legs and bounced a foot as she flicked a piece of dust off her pink cotton sundress. “Where were you all morning, anyway?”

  “Out riding. Why?”

  “You missed my synchronized swimming recital. Mommy’s mad.”

  Evie stopped chewing and wiped her mouth on her sweaty arm. “Was that today? I’m sorry, Beebee!”

  Beatrice rose from the bench and stretched like a Siamese cat. “No big deal.”

  “Were you fabulous?”

  “Everybody said so.”

  “I wish I’d seen you swim.”

  “I thought you missed it on purpose.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because you’re afraid of water.”

  Evie swallowed. It was true. The mere smell of chlorine caused a tightness in her chest and the need to sit down. “No. I really would’ve loved to see it.”

  Beatrice twirled, pointed a toe, and skipped up the walk to the house. “Next time.”

  “Sorry!” Evie called to her departing back. Nobody had actually told Evie about Beatrice’s swimming recital. She knew about it, but since she’d never been officially invited, she’d never promised to go. Which allowed her to sneak away to the Caledon Horse Race. Now it looked like she was in trouble again.

  “Hey, Evie!”

  Evie’s thoughts were broken by another sibling.

  Her seven-year-old half-brother, Jordan, appeared. He had light brown floppy hair and a sweet face.

  “Hey Jordie. What’s up?”

  “Where’ve you been all day?”

  “Fooling around with Kazzam.”

  “Who’s Kazzam?”

  Oops. “I mean No Justice.”

  “Why’d you call him Kazzam?”

  “It’s the name of the horse that won the Caledon Horse Race. I heard it on the radio today and I liked it.”

  “It’s a cool name.”

  “Yeah, I think so, too.” That was close, thought Evie.

  Jordie looked down at his runners. “Um, Mom wants to talk to you. She’s kinda mad about something.”

  “Beebee’s recital?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did she send you to find me?”

  “Yeah.” Jordie dug the toe of his sneaker into the grass. “Um, I can say I can’t find you, if you want.”

  “Nah. I’m going up to the house now anyway.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  Evie put her hand on her little brother’s shoulder as they walked. She was touched by how he stood up for her. She stood up for him, too. And sometimes it backfired.

  The previous summer, their father was chastising him in the back garden for bringing a tame rat home from day camp. Jordie had traded his lunch for it. Evie knew how much he loved it, and she approached them to offer to help look after it. Their father had glared at her, then grabbed the frightened rat by the tail and hurled it on the rocks below the garden. It broke its back. The gardener climbed down and smashed it with his shovel to put it out of its misery.

  Through her stunned tears, she’d asked Grayson why he’d done that. He’d answered, “The fact that you have to ask makes it worse.” Again, point made. Nobody should question his orders. Again, confusion and fear.

  Evie and Jordie entered the house through the kitchen door. She took off her filthy riding boots and stood them neatly on the boot rack. “Can you talk to Paulina while I have a quick shower? She hates it when I’m dirty.”

  “Sure.” Jordie took off running.

  Evie climbed the back stairs two at a time. She passed the open door of Beatrice’s pink-and-white, lace-and-satin bedroom. It had an ensuite bathroom and a big bay window with a cushioned window seat. Her childhood dollhouse was decorated exactly the same, and sat in the middle of the sitting-room area beside the television.

  Jordie’s room was just as big. It was all in shades of blue and very much a boy’s room. Trains, boats, cars, trucks, and all sorts of other toys were tidied every day by Sella. Sella had lived with the family for longer than Evie could remember and had become a second mother to her when she was three, after her own mother had gone.

  Up Evie climbed to her room, tucked under the roof. She loved it. There was barely space for a single bed and a dresser, but it was very private. The small window looked over toward the stables and she could see all the paddocks. Paulina let her decorate it any way she wanted. Paulina never went up there, so it really didn’t matter if it suited her lavish tastes.

  On Evie’s walls were pictures of horses and nothing else. Posters of jumping horses, bucking horses, mares and foals. She loved them all, but her favourite was the poster of jockey Imogene Watson winning the Queen’s Plate on Firestone Stable’s Mike Fox. Evie c
ould just imagine the thrill of that day.

  Evie had chosen a green-and-red plaid bed cover and had collected cushions with horses embroidered on them over the years. Whenever she saw one, she bought it with her savings unless it was too expensive. Sometimes theme cushions were totally overpriced.

  Evie pulled off her grimy clothes and jumped into the small shower in the hall. She soaped herself, washed her hair and rinsed it, grabbed a towel and was dressed in clean navy shorts and a white T-shirt within five minutes.

  She raced down the stairs and walked into the huge living room, decorated in shades of pink and ivory by some famous guy Paulina had flown up from Miami. She was a few minutes late, but at least Paulina wouldn’t spend ten minutes yelling at her about her lack of personal hygiene.

  Her stepmother, back from her riding lesson, lounged on the overstuffed white couch with satin cushions, her stockinged feet propped up on an ottoman. Tick and Tock, her tiny brown chihuahuas, were tucked beside her with their bug-eyed heads comfortably resting on her stomach. She’d removed her boots but hadn’t changed out of her riding clothes. She never got dirty. People made sure that the horses and tack were spotless.

  True to his word, Jordie sat on an armchair right beside her. He caught Evie’s eye and tried to wink. He’d been practising, but he still scrunched up his entire face.

  Paulina casually stretched her arms and ran her fingers through her long dark hair, posed like the fashion model she’d been before marriage. A full glass of red wine sat on the pink-lacquered coffee table.

  “I’ve got a bone to pick with you,” she said, levelling her dark brown eyes at Evie until they became a squint.

  Whenever Paulina said that, Evie imagined her taking a pickaxe to a dog bone. She tried not to smile. “I’m sorry.”

  Paulina snapped. “Don’t say you’re sorry before you know what to be sorry about.”

  Evie nodded and stopped herself before she could apologize again. “Is it about Beebee’s recital? I really —”