Jockey Girl

by Shelley Peterson

Suddenly, right in front of them, LaLaLady moved away from the geldings, opening a slim gap. Perfect timing!

  Evie pressed her toes into Kazzam’s sides and asked him to go through.

  His ears flattened right back. His entire body tensed, ready to buck. Evie felt him decide to let her stay aboard. It had been a warning she should heed.

  But should she let her horse make all the decisions? The finish line was within their grasp. There was no time left to wait. They were one horse-length behind the three front-runners, there was a space between LaLaLady and Thymetofly, and Kazzam had lots of speed left to use. It was now or never. It was right in front of them! We must make a move! Evie’s insides screamed. Now! Right now!

  Against her better judgment, she forced herself to wait.

  In his next two strides, Thymetofly moved inches to his right, toward LaLaLady. Kazzam gathered his tremendous reserves of power, then grabbed the bit with his teeth. He stormed through the narrowest of windows, right between Thymetofly and Pirate’s Dream, and outraced them all.

  They won by a cherry.

  27

  The Winner’s Circle

  Is it possible? wondered Evie. She looked back at the horses still crossing the finish line. Did they really win?

  Yes! They’d won the Queen’s Plate! Yes! Evie pumped her fist in the air, then reached down and hugged Kazzam’s neck tightly as he slowed to a stop. Yes!

  Before she’d even had a chance to think, a pretty brunette rode up beside her on a chestnut quarter horse. The woman smiled brightly and said into the mic, “I’m Renee Keirans, and I’m speaking to Evie Gibb, riding No Justice. Or Molly Peebles, riding Kazzam. Whoever you are and whatever your horse’s name, you are both amazing. Congratulations on your ride. You must be so excited!” She stuck the fuzzy microphone in front of Evie’s face.

  But Evie needed to catch her breath. She was overcome. She felt delirious and didn’t want to say anything stupid.

  Renee brought the mic back to her own face and continued, “You rode a daring race, Evie. You got past Phil’s Pholly and avoided the flying rear hooves of LaLaLady. Good call to wait and come between Thymetofly and Pirate’s Dream.”

  That’s why Kazzam refused to pass when LaLaLady gave him an opening, Evie thought. Only a horse would have known what another horse was thinking!

  “Not very talkative, are you?” Renee laughed merrily. “It was a tough race. You beat Thymetofly by a nose, and LaLaLady came in a close third. Tell me, Evie, how do you feel right now?”

  “Amazed. Amazed by my horse.”

  “A true horsewoman, folks. Once again, Evangeline Gibb, congratulations on a great ride!”

  “Thank you,” said Evie, tongue loosened now. “But it wasn’t me who won, it was Kazzam. I mean, No Justice. He made all the decisions except the bad ones.”

  Renee laughed again. “Thanks, Evie, you ran a great race.” She touched her ear, which Evie noticed had an earphone in it, and her brow suddenly furrowed. “Breaking news, folks. Word is, an inquiry has been lodged. More from Kathy Easton at Woodbine Entertainment.”

  “Inquiry? What about?” asked Evie, but Renee and her horse had trotted away.

  That’s when she realized that she was alone on the track. All the others had ridden back and were dismounting. Evie had just turned Kazzam to join them when Jerry, Mary, and Yolanda came running toward her on foot.

  Aunt Mary called, “Unbelievable! Bravo, Evie!”

  Jerry skipped and punched out his fists. He was too pumped up to say anything except “I’m rich!” and “We won!”

  Yolanda had tears running down her face, blending crazily with black mascara. She jumped and hooted with joy. “He did it! You did it! We did it! We won!”

  Aunt Mary was the only one who could speak coherently. “Let’s get to the Winner’s Circle, Evie! For the presentation!”

  Evie took her feet out of the stirrups and began to slide down, but Mary stopped her. “No. Stay up. We go just the way we are.”

  After that, Evie stopped thinking and let Aunt Mary take control. She’d done what she’d set out to do. The whole day was a dream, anyway, with outrageous, unnaturally brilliant colours and way too much adrenalin.

  The Winner’s Circle was in front of the Royal Box and crowded with people. It was decorated with enormous garlands of flowers, blue and gold satin ribbons, and immaculately trimmed greenery. It all seemed to blend together, Evie thought, but overall it sure was beautiful. Nothing in the world could ruin their triumph.

  Nothing in the world but the scene that unfolded.

  “Foul! I demand an appeal!” Grayson Gibb bellowed in his strange high voice. It appeared that he’d lost his cool entirely and wasn’t bothering to mask his rage with smiles or charm or pleasantries. “I challenge the validity of this horse and this jockey. They should not have been allowed to race!”

  Evie’s heart sank.

  Beside him stood Les Merton, his trainer. The man’s lips were pressed together tightly and his posture was ramrod straight. He looked very uncomfortable to Evie, but was being loyal to his boss.

  “A fraud has been perpetrated,” ranted Gibb. “The legitimate winner of the race is Thymetofly!”

  Murray Planno, flanked by the two other stewards, had been ready to present the golden, foot-high cup and to drape the flower blanket over No Justice. Now, they stood frozen with indecision as reporters flocked around Grayson Gibb like hyenas to carrion.

  Her father’s words became obscured by conversations all around her, as people asked one another what was going on.

  Aunt Mary grabbed Evie’s foot. “Look over there, dear. To the right, beside the hedge.”

  Evie looked. “What?”

  “Your stepmother, Paulina, and Beatrice and Jordie. Over there.” She pointed, and Evie saw the kids waving and jumping to get her attention. Jordie could hardly contain himself as he did a wild victory dance, and Beatrice looked as happy as Evie had ever seen her. Evie felt a sudden rush of love. She waved back and blew them kisses, which they returned tenfold. And there was Sella! She was with them, waving too, which made Evie very glad.

  Paulina’s boyfriend, Kerry Goodham, stood a little behind them, smiling handsomely. He would be much nicer to the kids than their own father, Evie figured, and with Sella rehired, things were likely to work out just fine, not “agaga.” Evie made a wish for that to come true. She blew a special kiss to Jordie and vowed to stay close.

  “Oh, my goodness,” murmured Aunt Mary. “Evie. At the trophy table. Look at the lovely woman in the blue, wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses.”

  Evie saw the blue hat and the sunglasses. “Okay, but am I supposed to —” She stopped abruptly. “Is that … my mother?”

  Angela Parson Gibb looked almost transformed. She was dressed in a beautiful, periwinkle-blue suit and pink blouse — her racing colours. Her hat, which covered her wound, matched the blue of the suit, and her wild red hair was tamed into a chignon at the nape of her neck. Angela’s too-thin legs were enhanced by the mid-length, slightly flared skirt and new black pumps. She carried a black, patent-leather clutch purse at her side. Her teeth had been bleached. Even her fingernails had been manicured and painted the same pink as in her silks! Evie stared admiringly. Nice change from the street-person look, she thought.

  Angela had told Evie that she wanted to be there, but Evie had never for a moment dared to hope that she could get herself together and actually come.

  “I can’t believe it,” said Evie.

  “I can,” said Mary. “She’s a very strong person, has been since the day she was born. I’m very proud of my daughter.”

  Your daughter? Evie shook her head. Aunt Mary must have misspoken, or maybe with all the noise, Evie hadn’t heard properly. “You said ‘daughter.’ Don’t you mean your niece, Aunt Mary?”

  Mary looked up at Evie with a serene expression. “No, I’m her mother. My older brother and his wife desperately wanted children and couldn’t have them. I got pregnant and was too young to
raise a child properly. It was the perfect solution for everyone.”

  “But, why ... why tell now?”

  “Why not? Today’s a new start. For everybody.”

  On this day of crazy surprises, the news that Aunt Mary was actually her grandmother seemed exactly right. “Is she coming home with us?”

  “Yes.” Mary nodded. “Today. Dr. Graham okayed it.”

  “I guess I call you Granny now? Or Gran Mary?”

  “Gran Mary? I like it.” Aunt Mary squeezed her foot again. “But look who’s there with Angela. The dear boy.”

  Mark Sellers stepped from behind and appeared at Angela’s side with a chair, then held her arm to steady her. He looked a little shy. Evie waved. He waved back proudly. Evie was so glad he was there that her chest actually hurt. And she was deeply pleased that he was looking after Angela. In fact, she wondered fleetingly, did Mark have anything to do with her mother getting here?

  Because her mother had everything to do with Evie getting here, to the Winner’s Circle, sitting on Kazzam, her mother’s horse. Evie was filled with gratitude to this woman, who remained a big mystery to her. She tried to catch her eye to signal her thanks, but Angela was intent on every word coming out of Grayson Gibb’s mouth.

  Over at the edge of the crowd stood a small group of jockeys. Had they come to offer support? wondered Evie. Or to see what was going on? Imogene Wilson was among them, and still grimy from her ride on LaLaLady, she wiggled her fingers at Evie.

  Evie waved back and pointed to her borrowed saddle. “Lucky saddle!” she yelled. “Thank you!”

  Imogene held two thumbs up.

  Another familiar face emerged from the sea of stran-gers. Chet Reynolds held a microphone to Grayson Gibb’s mouth to catch every last utterance. He must have felt Evie looking at him, for he grinned at her with raised eyebrows and a nod. He’d wanted a story, and today he was getting one.

  Murray Planno was on the stage, trying hard to get things under control. “Hello? Folks? Attention!”

  The reporters were finished with Grayson. They moved en masse to the stage, ready to feast on more news and, with luck, more scandal. Cameras and microphones focused on Murray Planno, dressed in his finest mixture of plaids and stripes. He looked very unhappy.

  “The stewards cannot make a final decision. We will convene a meeting to review the rightful ownership of No Justice, the winning horse. For the first time in history, the Queen’s Plate —”

  “Mr. Planno!” Angela interrupted him in a shaky but penetrating voice. She stood beside the large golden trophy, while Mark stood guard at her side. She wobbled. He grabbed an elbow and held her steady.

  Most people had no idea who she was, but all heads swivelled toward her, waiting to hear what she had to say. Evie hoped fervently that her mother could pull this off.

  “My name is Angela Parson Gibb.” Her voice wavered.She cleared her throat and coughed. Mark silently urged her on. “I am the owner of No Justice.”

  There was an audible gasp in the crowd. “I have legal documentation to prove it.” With trembling hands she opened her purse and produced a sheaf of papers. They shook wildly in her hand, but she held her head high and retained an air of quiet dignity.

  “Thank you.” Murray Planno reached down and took them. “I ask for your patience, ladies and gentlemen.”

  Mark grabbed the chair and sat Angela down in it while the three stewards bent over the papers, giving them their complete concentration. They conferred among themselves.

  Grayson Gibb could not keep quiet. “This is unbelievable! I am an institution. My word should overrule the rantings of a ... a derelict ... a street person!”

  The crowd booed him. Evie recognized hurt on her mother’s face. Mark squeezed her shoulder in support.

  Murray Planno stared Grayson down. “Mr. Gibb, you’re out of order. These are valid, authorized, legal papers.”

  “Have a decent lawyer look at them!”

  “That will not be necessary. We have our winner.”

  “I object! Thymetofly is the winner! Look at the race tapes! No Justice bumped into Phil’s Pholly! I’ll lodge a complaint against him!”

  At the mention of Phil’s Pholly, the jockeys got agitated. Imogene Watson stepped up. “Yes, please! Look at the tapes. Phil’s Pholly bumped into No Justice. And before him, Roustabout. And then Passenger Pigeon. And —”

  “That’s bunk!” screamed Grayson.

  The jockeys glared at him and looked ready for a fight.

  Murray lifted his chin and nodded curtly. Two police officers appeared. They strode through the crowd, parting the onlookers like a boat on the water, coming to a stop at either side of Grayson Gibb.

  The officer on his right said, “Mr. Gibb, we’re taking you down to the station. You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit fraud and to commit cruelty against animals, causing harm.”

  People gasped and then a murmur rose from the crowd.

  It suddenly became very clear to Evie. The attack on No Justice. It had been her father. He’d ordered it. Aunt Mary was right. He was a scorpion and he did what scorpions do. He’d never change. The letter was a fraud. He’d never cared about her. A part of her had known this all along.

  The policemen read Grayson his rights, then escorted him out. Grayson yelled hoarsely, making it known that this was a grave miscarriage of justice and that he, Grayson Gibb, would see them all in court.

  Then her father was gone. A calm fell over Evie. She cleared her head of everything except her horse. She inhaled the lovely June air and basked in the small black horse’s accomplishment. She stroked his smooth, powerful neck. “Thank you, Kazzam. You are the fastest of them all. Today, everybody knows it.”

  Murray took out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. He spoke into the microphone. “Let’s begin again, folks, shall we?” He smiled, and the crowd applauded. When the applause subsided, he continued, “I hereby declare that No Justice is the winner of this year’s running of the Gallop for the Guineas — the Queen’s Plate!”

  Gallantly and with great ceremony, he handed Angela Parson Gibb the Queen’s Plate trophy, polished to a golden glow. She almost dropped it, but Mark caught it in time.

  As people cheered and applauded again, Angela searched for and found Evie. Immediately, she began to make her way toward her daughter and No Justice. Her progress was marked by the golden trophy she held.

  Mark elbowed her through the crush of people with the assistance of Mary, Jerry, and Yolanda. When they finally got through, Angela passed the trophy up to her daughter, arms shaking and her face wet with tears.

  Evie took it. It was warm from the sun, and heavy. Very heavy. She imagined all the years of races and winners that it had seen.

  “We did it for you, Mom. I love you.”

  The loudest cheer of all echoed throughout the stands.

  As cameras rolled, Evie held the treasured object high in the air, sitting proudly astride her much maligned little horse, grinning from ear to ear.

  Evie had just handed the trophy down to Murray when Kazzam reared up and whinnied so loudly that Murray and several others jumped away. He pawed the air in a show of triumph and then dropped his front hooves down lightly with a great toss of his head and a series of nickers and snorts.

  Angela reached over and held Evie’s calf, smiling up at her. Her eyes shone with happy tears. “Beautiful ride, Jockey Girl.”

  Evie felt a lump of gratitude in her throat. “Thank you, Mom. But it’s you who’s beautiful today.”

  “Credit goes to Mark and Mary. Mark found me Friday afternoon and drove me up to his mother’s lovely new spa.”

  So that was the errand that Mark had to do on Friday afternoon!

  “And Mary took me to her lawyer to get the power of attorney legally changed. Oh … And these are Mary’s clothes,” she continued, indicating her blue suit and hat. “They’ve all taken good care of me, Evie. Just look at my nails! Yesterday, they made me spend the whole gosh-darn day soaki
ng!”

  28

  The Awful Secret

  It was Wednesday morning around ten. The chores were done and there was a little lull in activity, perfect for a coffee break. Yolanda was soaking up the sun on the side patio, catching up on her rest and very happy with her cozy apartment over the garage. Mary was inside, working on her next novel.

  Evie and Angela sat together on the wicker lawn chairs in the kitchen garden under the birch trees, while Magpie rested under Evie’s chair. She leaned down to give the dog a good scratch behind the ears, and smiled at Magpie’s complete contentment.

  Sunlight sparkled on the dewy grass. Birds were busy with their full nests, and all around them the world of insects was buzzing about its business. The fresh aromas of rosemary, oregano, and parsley hung in the air.

  Angela had moved into Parson’s Bridge the evening of the victory, waiting for her place in a private rehabilitation facility. Mary had been put in charge of making sure that Angela followed Dr. Graham’s orders to the letter before being admitted. She was to be watched at all times so she didn’t leave or consume something harmful.

  This morning Angela wore Aunt Mary’s faded jeans and tangerine blouse, and her feet were bare. She stretched her legs and stubbed out a cigarette, then took a sip of her coffee. Her hands were shaky and she took care not to spill.

  Evie had noticed how her mother rarely looked people in the eye. She was in constant motion and never really relaxed. Sometimes she would chew her nails hungrily and make odd facial movements. Tics, really. And scratch at her skin.

  She didn’t really know this woman, Evie realized. Had trouble thinking of her as her mother. She hoped that as time went by and as Angela got better, that would change.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Mom. I was a little worried.”

  “About me coming to Parson’s Bridge?”

  “Yes. I guess I didn’t understand about … you know, addiction. And what it meant, like what could happen.”

  “I understand.”

  “It’s all so new to me.”