Golden Filly Collection Two

by Lauraine Snelling

  But it did. It was one more failure to pile on to a load that was getting too heavy to bear.

  Her mount the next afternoon swung wide on the turns and finished fourth.

  “If I could just have kept him running straight, we’d have been in the money.” She slumped on a green wooden trunk in the office at the barns. “What is the matter with me?”

  Adam looked up from his paper work. “I think you’re trying too hard. You talked about going home for a couple of days. Maybe you should; it might help.”

  “I’d have to cancel a ride on Sunday.…Big deal, the owner would probably be glad to give it to someone who wins once in a while. What about the one for you on Saturday?”

  “I’ll get someone; don’t worry.”

  “If I skip my lab on Thursday…” She shook her head. “No. I’ll catch an early flight on Friday morning. Maybe David can pound some chemistry into my head on Saturday. If he’ll even talk to me, that is.”

  “Trouble there too?” Adam leaned back in his green and gold director’s chair.

  “Yeah. I haven’t been too faithful about writing and calling home.”

  You haven’t been too faithful about anything, her nagger jumped in.

  Adam handed her a phone book. “Call the airline now. It’ll make you feel better.”

  Thursday afternoon, Trish rode Bob Diego’s gelding to a place. They missed the win by a photo finish.

  “You can’t complain about that,” Adam said as he snapped a lead shank on the gray’s halter. “You rode well and that was a tough field. Any horse could have been the winner.”

  “I shoulda gone to the whip sooner. He could have done it.”

  “Trish…”

  “Well, I won with him before.”

  “That was Portland. The horses here are faster. He did very well.”

  Trish planned to study the next morning on the plane, but fell asleep. It was easier.

  Trish saw Rhonda’s beaming face before she saw her mother’s as she walked up the ramp from the plane. From the looks of it, Rhonda was in her perpetual-motion mode. She threw her arms around Trish, backed off, then hugged her again.

  “Wow! Look at your tan. You been laying out or what?”

  “Just the arms and face. The rest of me’s white as ever. I don’t have any daylight hours to lay out, even though there’s a deck right off my bedroom. I’ve only been on it once.”

  “My turn.” Marge laughed as she reached in for a hug. “I can tell I won’t get a word in edgewise this trip home. You have other luggage?”

  “Nope, this is it.” Trish picked up her sports bag again. “I travel light when I can.”

  “And you’re only staying till Monday,” Rhonda groaned. “Why is it my best friend is always in some other part of the country?”

  “That’s the price of fame.” Marge led the way down the escalator and back up to the parking lot.

  Trish stopped on the sidewalk to look at Mount Hood with its summer snow streaks. Mount St. Helens was just visible to the north. “No mountains in San Mateo. I feel like I’m really home.”

  “Maybe someday we’ll go skiing again.” Rhonda turned to Trish and grinned. “Then, maybe not. Wait till you see—”

  Marge stopped at a black-cherry-colored minivan and inserted her key in the lock. “What do you think?” She smiled at Trish.

  “What a beauty! You didn’t tell me you bought a new car.”

  “I wanted to surprise you.” Marge flipped the electric lock and opened the passenger doors. “Just toss your stuff in. You two can fight for the front seat.”

  “What’d you do with the wagon?” Trish gave Rhonda a playful shove toward the front.

  “I traded it in. Your father and I had looked at this one before, and our mechanic said the wagon needed work, so…” She slammed her door shut. “Here we are.”

  Trish felt the old familiar pain at the mention of her father. When she walked into the house, it hit her like a load of rock, and she could hardly make it to her bedroom.

  “Still hurts, huh?” Rhonda sat down on the edge of the bed and hugged a throw pillow to her chest.

  Trish nodded. “Shows, huh? It’s not so bad when I’m away from home. But when I come back, and he’s not here—” She went to look out the window, her hands stuffed in the back pockets of her jeans. “I don’t know, Rhonda. Sometimes I wonder if the pain will ever go away.”

  “Wish I could help, Trish.”

  “I don’t think anyone can.” She stood at the window, silent for a few moments. “Let’s go see Miss Tee.”

  Caesar met them at the door, tail thumping, and yipping with excitement.

  “Where were you? You missed the car coming in. Some watchdog you are.” Trish bent over to tug on his fluffy mane and got a lightning-quick nose lick for her efforts. Then the dog put one white paw on Trish’s knee to balance himself and pawed the air with the other. Trish pulled his ears and knelt down to hug him.

  “No dogs at the Finleys’ city home, though they have two Rottweilers on the ranch.” Trish stopped to look over the farm. She could see the horses in their paddocks beyond the barns. Patrick’s new mobile home looked settled in on the property. The base was covered with matching skirting, and there were newly planted shrubs and flowers to make it look homey.

  The girls trotted on down the rise. Trish’s whistle was answered by a whinny from the paddock. Old Dan’l hadn’t forgotten her. But Spitfire’s shrill response was as absent as Hal’s voice.

  Trish stopped in the tack room to grab a carrot out of the refrigerator, and broke it into pieces as she and Rhonda meandered past the stables and out the lane to the paddocks.

  Miss Tee trotted up to the fence and stood still when Trish took hold of the halter. She munched her carrot and nosed Trish’s hand for more. Double Diamond and his dam did the same.

  “Where’d you learn those manners?” Trish rubbed the filly’s ears and the crest of her mane. “You sure are getting to be a beauty.”

  “She always has been. Remember what a cutey she was when she’d peek around her mother with the mare’s tail draped over her face?” Rhonda patted Double D. “This one’s pretty good-looking too.”

  Dan’l nickered from the next paddock. The yearling and two mares joined him at the fence. If only Spitfire were here. Trish leaned her forehead against the filly’s.

  “There’ll never be another horse like Spitfire.” She shook her head.

  “You two had a pretty special relationship. I think he could read your mind and you his.”

  “I know. You know what scares me?” The filly blew in her ear.

  “What?”

  “I can’t read my horses anymore. It’s like we’re not even on the same wavelength. You know how my dad used to say I had a special gift?” She closed her eyes. “It’s gone.”

  “Oh, Trish, I…” Rhonda patted Trish’s shoulder.

  “If I can’t race, I don’t know what I’ll do. Life just isn’t worth it.”

  “Tricia Marie Evanston, don’t talk like that!” Rhonda’s temper flared like her red hair. “Things’ll get better again. I know they will.”

  Double Diamond raced off at the sound of the raised voice. Miss Tee pulled against Trish’s restraining hand. Trish let her go. “I hope so.” She wandered over to pat Dan’l. “I sure hope so. It can’t get any worse.”

  “Welcome home, lass,” Patrick called as they returned to the barn. “What do you think of the home stock?”

  “They’re looking good, Patrick. And so are you. Your house is beautiful. You’ve been working hard.”

  “Well, your mother’s done a lot of it. She sure has a green thumb. What’s this I hear about you losing your touch?”

  “It’s true. I can’t bring in a winner for the life of me.” Trish and Rhonda flopped on a hay bale in front of the tack room.

  “And she says life isn’t worth living.”

  “Blabbermouth.” Trish elbowed her friend in the ribs.

  “It’ll get
better, lass, it will.” Patrick propped a leg on another bale and leaned his elbow on his knee. “What’s that saying?” He wrinkled his brow. “It’s always darkest before dawn?”

  “Yeah, well, dawn better come pretty soon.” Trish levered herself to her feet. “You need me in the morning?”

  “Nope. You’re on vacation; sleep in.”

  David was about as friendly as a porcupine at the dinner table that night. He only answered when spoken to.

  “What’s with him?” Trish questioned her mother as she helped clear the table.

  “Why don’t you ask him?” Marge rinsed plates in the sink and loaded them into the dishwasher.

  The thought of getting into an argument with David was more than Trish could handle. So much for having a chemistry coach.

  Her mother had turned down the sheets, and Trish’s bed welcomed her. She watched the dancing tree branches make shadows on her wall before sleep claimed her.

  “Okay, David, what is it?” she asked after breakfast the next morning.

  David looked up from circling the rim of his coffee mug with a forefinger. “You really want to know?”

  Trish nodded.

  “Okay. You don’t call. You don’t write. If Mom didn’t talk with Martha, we wouldn’t know if you were dead or alive.” David set his mug down hard. “Even Red’s called here asking if you’re all right. What are we supposed to tell him?”

  Trish’s sigh could be felt all the way to her toes. “I’m sorry.” She sucked in her bottom lip. “What can I say? You’re right.”

  “I hear Mom crying at night. Losing Dad was bad enough; she shouldn’t have to cry about you too.”

  A gray cloud settled around Trish’s shoulders and pressed her to her chair. “I’ll do better. I promise.”

  David stared at her. “Is that all you’ve got to say?”

  Trish nodded.

  “I expected you to at least yell at me.” A tiny grin lifted one corner of his mouth. “I had all kinds of answers ready.”

  Trish was speechless. She could hear her mother talking to Caesar out on the deck.

  “The four musketeers are going for pizza and a movie this afternoon. How does that sound?”

  Trish looked at her brother for the first time in a long time—really looked at him. The frown was gone from his forehead. Her brother, her friend, was back.

  That afternoon at the Pizza Shack, Brad asked David, “When do you leave for Arizona?”

  “End of August—assuming I’m accepted and all my records transfer.”

  “That will go fast.”

  “How come I…” Trish shut her mouth. If she’d called home more often, she’d have known.

  “I can’t wait. I’ll have a year-round tan then, not just rusty like you Washingtonians.”

  “Yeah, big talk.” Rhonda flicked soda at him with her straw. “You know for sure where you’re going to school, Brad?”

  “Mom says Clark, Dad says University of Washington, and my scholarship is for Washington State. I had thought David was going to be there and we could room together.” He rested his chin on his hands. “I’m accepted at all three.”

  “Now the big question. What are you going to be when you grow up?” Rhonda teased.

  Trish felt like a spectator watching a play from the last row of the balcony. The voices faded in and out, as with a faulty sound system.

  “What are you going to do, Tee?”

  Trish snapped to attention. “Who, me? Uh—join the foreign legion.” Trish took a bite of pizza before looking up to get her friends’ response.

  “Funny.” David shook his head.

  “We’re seniors this year.” Rhonda jumped in to fill the silence. “We can do anything we want.”

  “Right.” David and Brad spoke in the same breath.

  Trish sat through the movie but couldn’t have told anyone the plot. Rhonda stayed overnight with Trish, and though they usually didn’t lack for things to talk about, Trish had to force herself to stay awake. She drifted off in the middle of a sentence.

  In the morning, Marge insisted they all go to church together. Trish felt about as much like going to church as to the dentist. She was the last one out to the minivan and sat in the back. Rhonda turned to talk with her but Trish was not in the mood.

  She managed to ignore the songs, the Scripture-reading, and the sermon, until Pastor Mort quoted Jesus: “ ‘In my Father’s house are many mansions.…I go to prepare a place for you, that where I am, there you may be also.’”

  Trish clamped her teeth on her bottom lip. Her father had quoted that verse many times. She glared at the pastor. Had he purposely used this Scripture—because he knew she would be there? Arms locked across her chest, Trish mulled the thought over, trying to put his voice in another dimension.

  Rhonda poked her in the side. “You okay?” she whispered.

  Trish shook her head.

  The service closed with the hymn from Isaiah: “He will raise you up on eagle’s wings.…” Trish tried to shut it out. When that didn’t work, she walked out the door. It may have been her theme song at one time, but not anymore.

  “Pastor Mort asked about you,” Marge said when she got to the car. “He wondered why you left suddenly. Do you want to go back in and say hello? We’ll wait.”

  Patrick nodded. “It might do you good, lass.”

  Trish erupted from the backseat. “How come everyone knows what’s best for me?” Her voice broke as she climbed out of the van and slammed the door after her.

  She met Pastor Mort as he was entering his study. “I—I’m sorry I left church like that. I just couldn’t take any more.” She slouched in a chair in his office.

  “I thought so. You looked pretty uncomfortable.” His smile was easy; his voice without condemnation. “Contrary to what you might have thought, I did not choose that Scripture passage. It was the assigned portion for today.”

  Trish had to grin. He’d read her perfectly.

  “I know that was one of your father’s favorite verses. He was looking forward to that mansion, you know.” Pastor Mort waited for Trish to say something. He was good at waiting.

  “I didn’t want to come to church today…”

  “I figured as much. How’s the anger these days?”

  Trish grinned again. “Better, I think. It’s hard coming home, though. Everything comes back as soon as I walk in the door.” She looked down at her hands. “I can’t do anything right anymore either. I can’t ride like I used to; can’t win anything. And I nearly flunked my chemistry quiz—and I’d studied. All I want to do is sleep. I can’t breathe; it’s like the air is too heavy.”

  Pastor Mort nodded. “Depression can be a part of the grieving process. It happens when we turn our anger inward. Does that seem to fit?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Have you read your father’s journal?”

  Trish shook her head.

  “Have you started one of your own?”

  “I—I just don’t have time right now. I—” She looked up to study the man’s face. “I’m scared. Really scared.”

  “Why is that?” His voice was soft, compassionate.

  Trish sensed that he really cared. “I—I don’t think life is worth living anymore.”

  “Too much effort?”

  “Mmmm.”

  “May I pray with you, Trish?”

  Trish shook her head.

  “Well, if I can’t pray with you now, I promise I will pray for you.”

  She nodded, holding back the tears.

  “Try the journaling. I know it will help. I could find someone down there for you to talk to, if you’d like.”

  “I gotta go. They’re waiting for me.” Trish stood to her feet. “Thanks.”

  “It’ll get better. Believe me.” Pastor Mort stood with her. “I’ll send you the name of someone in San Mateo.”

  The next morning Marge drove Trish to the airport. “What did you think of Miss Tee, Trish?”

  “Patrick’s be
en doing a good job with her.”

  “No…I have.”

  Trish stared at her mother. “You?”

  “Yes. Surprised?”

  “Surprised isn’t the word; you don’t even like horses.”

  Marge drove into the short-term parking lot and turned off the engine. “It’s funny, isn’t it. All the years your father worked with the horses, I was busy raising you kids. Now he’s gone, and you and David…”

  “But I’m coming back.”

  “I know that. But you’ll start your senior year this fall. After graduation who knows where you’ll be.” Marge turned toward her daughter. “I needed something to do—something to really occupy my time—so I asked Patrick if I could help with the horses. It’s been good. I feel closer to your dad down at the barns than anywhere. Maybe it’s because he was so happy there.” She continued as the tears ran down her cheeks. “I found that I’m good with the babies. Of course, I always have been good with babies.…”

  “Oh, Mom, I’m really proud of you.”

  “Thanks, Tee. I figured it couldn’t hurt to try. Selling out had crossed my mind. How are things going for you in California?”

  It was the first chance all weekend that Trish had had to really talk to her mother. “Not too good. I’ve lost my touch—can’t seem to get them into the money.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Marge laid a hand on Trish’s shoulder.

  “The sportswriters even talk about it in their articles. Pretty bad, huh?” She opened the car door. “We’d better go.”

  “I know.…Just remember that I love you—and miss you. The house is pretty empty.”

  Trish tried to smile around the quiver of her lips. “It won’t be too long till I’m home.”

  Aboard the plane, Trish pondered her mother’s words—“selling out.” Would her mother ever really consider that? Was there anything she could do to stop it?

  The next afternoon, Trish’s mount stumbled coming out of the gate. The filly went to her knees, and Trish somersaulted over her head and thumped in the dirt.

  Chapter