“Good morning there, Maizie. Lookie here at this mare and foal. Ain’t this foal gettin’ big? You start watching mother and foal and you’ll learn all you need to know about getting these babies to do what you want. I learned that back on the farm when I was a kid.”
So Maizie watched her favorite foal, a beautiful bay-colored colt with the white forelegs. The mare, Star Bright, would nudge the baby lightly either on the neck or the hindquarters in the direction she wanted him to turn. The foal responded by moving his legs in the right direction every time. When she ran to tell Jeb what she had discovered, Jeb was pleased.
“Seems you got a knack for watchin’ those mamas,” Jeb said. He pulled up his sleeve, exposing a weathered and badly scarred forearm.
Maizie looked at the scar with concern. “Jeb, what happened?”
Jeb looked at his arm and rubbed it with his gnarly fingers. “Long time ago that fence and I got into a duel, I guess. I was working trimming it and reweaving branches when I took a couple of long thorns. Guess I pulled out my arm and I got this ugly cut. It was deep too; didn’t heal for a long time.”
“The fence around this property?”
“Yep, that’s the one. Happened a long time ago.”
Maizie put her index finger on the scar and said, “I’m sorry, Jeb.”
Jeb laughed but looked appreciatively at Maizie. “No need to be sorry. I’m proud of my scars. Reminds me of the life I’ve lived. Every one of ’em has a story. When you get to be my age, you are going to have them too. Some scars you’ll see. Some of them will be in your heart.”
Maizie nodded and turned to run back to the ranch house. Climbing the steps to the back veranda, she ran into Philippe, who was sitting on a chair enjoying a glass of iced tea. After a friendly greeting, Philippe asked Maizie to get a bouquet garni from Ol’ Jon: herbs and young, tender carrot and celery leaves. When Maizie arrived at the garden she saw the old Creole on his knees, tending to his starts and the herbs that he loved.
“Good morning, Maizie. What you been doing this morning?”
“I’ve been to the stables watching the mares and their babies. The new foals are getting bigger already. Capp says he’s gonna ask Wil if I can name one of ’em.”
“Now, that’s a big thing, to name a livin’ creature. You got to give it thought. The name has to be right.”
Maizie nodded. “I’ve been thinking about naming the colt. He’s my favorite.”
“You name that creature and he’ll be yours. I knows that to be true.”
Maizie let the welcome weight of that statement linger for a moment. The idea of naming a Glidewell foal felt like a privilege, now, a responsibility. Suddenly remembering why she had come, Maizie said, “Philippe needs a bouquet garni.”
“What herbs he needin’?”
“Carrot and celery leaves if you got ’em, and parsley, bay, and thyme.”
“I sure can do that.” Ol’ Jon stood while pulling his trusty clippers from his back pocket and went to work. He had fresh parsley and thyme but had to go to his garden shed to retrieve some dried bay. Moving to another part of the garden, he found some very young celery and carrot leaves. “I bet you don’t know about God’s herbs and what they mean. Why these herbs in this garden are suitable for a good doctor and a prized chef. They got secret powers.”
“Really?”
“I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true.” Ol’ Jon cut sprigs of parsley for the bouquet and held them gently as he took a deep whiff of their smell. Did you know that parsley makes folks feel cheerful? And this thyme here makes you feel strong. Come smell ’em, Maizie.”
She put the parsley to her nose. The smell was fresh and clean. Then she smelled the thyme and was reminded of lemons, but she didn’t get how that made a person strong.
“Now here is some dried bay leaves. Bay means glory. Sweet and spicy bay. You know what glory is, Maizie?”
She took the leaves in her hand and brought them to her nose. “Not sure, but bay smells good.”
“Using bay in a dish brings glory to the chef. That’s another way of saying bay brings a chef compliments. Glory can be sweet, but there may be a bit of spice or bitterness, too.” He laughed, then he wrapped his bouquet with fresh string, tied it in a bow, and presented it to Maizie, bowing slightly as he did.
“Here. You run along now, Maizie.” Maizie took the herb bouquet in her hand, brought it to her nose and smiled at her Creole friend.
Chapter 36
Bumpy Dreams
Maizie walked into Mary’s office holding two steaming mugs of coffee with sugar and cream. As she set the first cup in front of Mary, she tipped the other cup in her left hand, the hot coffee spilling on the floor and onto Mary’s shoe.
“Ouch,” Mary yelled. “That coffee is hot!” Mary bent and removed her shoe while brushing the coffee from her leg, foot and shoe. “And now I’m a sticky mess.”
“I’m so sorry.” Maizie’s face began to tighten and her lips quivered as she fought back tears. “I’m terribly sorry.”
“Damage is done. I’ll have to go wash up,” Mary said, visibly annoyed. “And I have so much work to do.” And with that Maizie broke into heavy sobs.
Surprised, Mary looked up. “Maizie, it’s all right. Look here, my foot is only slightly red. Now go on and get to work while I clean up this floor.” Grabbing a rag from her bottom desk drawer, Mary got busy.
Maizie sat at her desk trying to contain sobs that seemed to bubble abruptly from her throat. As her sobs quieted, hiccups took over.
“My goodness, Maizie. Relax.” Mary stood and walked to the window. “Come here. Look, Jeb is taking one of the foals for a walk.” Mary waited but Maizie did not join her. Turning to face her, Mary could see the weight of her coffee-cup accident all over the young girl’s face. She’d never seen the child look so unhappy.
Mary moved quickly back to where Maizie stood. “My, you look miserable,” Mary said. She placed her hand on Maizie’s hand and patted it. “Don’t worry. Nothing bad will come of this accident. I am fine. It just took me by surprise.”
Maizie nodded as she wiped off tears. “I know. I’m just tired.”
“You didn’t sleep? No worries, I hope.”
Maizie lowered her head. “No worries, just a bad dream.”
“I remember those.” Maizie looked up and raised her shoulders, waiting for what Mary had to say.
“Everyone has them once in a while,” Mary continued. “But dreams can seem so real at times.” Mary’s face went from a look of concern to visible grief. She walked slowly to her desk. “I used to dream all the time that I had lost my baby. I looked everywhere in my dream. I was frantic and would wake up calling for the child. Then I’d cry myself to sleep.” Maizie stood straighter, now appearing anxious to hear more.
“Did you lose your baby?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Mary now regretted mentioning her baby to Maizie. She was too young to understand a mother’s sense of loss. She remained quiet, her eyes gazing unseeingly across the room. Finally she looked at Maizie as if awakened and said, “But that was a long time ago.” Seeming to swallow her grief, she continued: “Tell me about your dream.”
Maizie hesitated and looked to her desktop and straightened a few papers resting in front of her. Raising her head, she turned back to Mary and said, “My dream is nothing really. It confuses me is all. I wake up and then can’t get back to sleep.”
“What’s it about?”
“My mama and me, when we lived in a little house. We would sleep together on a little bed.”
“What’s confusing about that?”
“A man comes in. My mama tells me to run to the other room. She says she’ll come get me in just a few minutes. I can hear noises from the room. Noises I don’t understand. When my mama comes and gets me, the man is mad. He yells at my mother and hits her. She grabs me and we run.
I’m so scared. We run until our legs give out. And then the dream ends.”
“Maizie, sometimes dreams are just folly, made-up nonsense. But sometimes dreams are old memories that we are trying to forget or understand.”
“This is a memory. I know it.”
“How old are you in the dream?”
“Seems like I’m little, maybe four or five?”
Mary reached to rub Maizie’s shoulder but thought better of it. Putting her hand in her dress pocket, she cleared her throat and continued: “You have nothing to fear here at Glidewell. If you are ever scared or you don’t understand something, please come to us.”
Maizie did not respond.
“A girl your age should be having good dreams.”
Maizie simply nodded and went back to her work. Mary wondered if there were any words to ease Maizie’s pain. She could find none and simply said, “Will you come to me, when you are scared?”
Maizie looked at Mary and smiled. There was a feeling of warmth in the moment. Mary felt a profound sense of love for the girl. Her gratitude for the gesture of a smile was overwhelming; Mary began to cry.
“Mrs. Glidewell, why are you crying? Your foot still hurt?” Maizie asked, concern evident on her face.
“No mind,” Mary said and then pointed to her foot. “My foot is fine. See? Excuse me, I need to clean up a bit.” Mary reached into her pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, wiping away tears as she left the room.
Chapter 37
An Afternoon Romp
Martin Garner jumped from his red truck and made his way to the manager’s office at Churchill Downs. “Good morning, Tilly. You got time for a little romp?”
Tilly looked up from her work. She liked being called Tilly around the backside. Gave her more character she thought. Her dad didn’t like it. Said it was unprofessional-sounding. He liked the name Matilda. He was so old-fashioned. She sighed heavily and smiled at Martin. “Where you want to go?”
“How about Dad’s barn here at the track? Nobody there. They are all watching the claim races this afternoon. We got quite a few runnin’.”
“Tack room?” asked Tilly sounding disappointed.
“You like it?”
“Not particularly. You talk with your daddy about buying our farm?”
“Not yet. Not sure how to approach it.” He moved around the counter toward her desk. “You sure look good today, Tilly. Come on. We don’t have much time.”
“You gonna ask your Daddy?” she repeated as she dropped her pen in the desk drawer and slid it shut.
Martin sighed heavily and said, “I promise, I will. Come on.”
Tilly opened a compact on her desk and caught a glimpse of her hair. Quickly she captured a few stray hairs and pushed them behind her ears. “That’s what you said last time, Martin, and the time before.”
“Come on, baby. I got a flask.” Tilly looked up and smiled.
“I’d rather go for a ride in your truck. But this is the last time ‘til you talk with your daddy.”
Martin threw his hands in the air. “Whatever you want. Come on! I don’t have all afternoon.”
Chapter 38
Maizie’s Diary
August 2, 1931
I had another nightmare. I didn’t share it with Mrs. Glidewell. There is something about telling her everything that I don’t like. Seems dreams are none of her business. She has a way of making my life her business.
When I woke up this morning, I was shaking and out of breath. The dream was so real. Now Mrs. Glidewell says some dreams are just a bunch of nonsense, so I am hoping that was true about this one. Mama and I were walking again. I was gathering wildflowers for Mama’s hair. All of a sudden, a man grabbed me. He lifted me over his shoulder and started running. I could see Mama running after me. I was scared. Then he dropped me. Mama found me all bruised and bloody, just lying there. She carried me to the edge of the river. The same river we are often at when I dream. She washed my cuts and scrapes and wrapped me in her arms and rocked me. We both cried. That was all I could remember. It felt so real to me that I cried into my pillow.
But a good thing happened today. Meadowlark arrived for the match races. He is like no one I’ve ever met. He is so cheerful with a smile and laugh that just makes you happy. He gave me a huge hug and called me Maizie Bean. Isn’t that funny? Sugar said, “Now whys you callin’ that child a bean?” He didn’t say nothing—just laughed and winked at me.
Meadowlark is an entertainer, piano player, and singer. Mrs. Glidewell hired him for events at the Colonial Hotel. He calls himself Meadowlark because he sings like a bird. He is going to live here at the ranch and play piano for guests. Mrs. Glidewell says he will write new songs. There isn’t much payin’ work for musicians. Times are rough for Meadowlark right now. He joined us this Monday-night dinner with the Wembleys. Mrs. Glidewell had me invite Sugar and Ol’ Jon too.
After we all had dinner, Sugar and Meadowlark got to sitting around the piano singing. Ol’ Jon played rhythms on the piano top, like a drum. Mr. and Mrs. Glidewell started dancing. Wil came and grabbed my hand and we tried to dance. Capp said he would dance, but he didn’t know how. James said that was no excuse. So Capp danced with me. We just kind of scooted around the floor giggling. Then Mrs. Glidewell comes up and tells me it’s time for bed. I sure have fun with Capp, but I don’t think Mrs. Glidewell likes it. I don’t like her acting like my mother all the time.
Now I was thinking maybe I like Capp so much ’cause of his smile. I like people who smile big. A smile makes you all warm inside, like someone wrapped you in a soft blanket. Sometimes I wish Capp would kiss me. I think I’d like it. Mrs. Glidewell wouldn’t. Maybe then my nightmares would go away. Now that would be something if Capp’s kisses were like magic.
Bonne nuit, mon ami,
Maizie Sunday Freedman
Chapter 39
The Performer
The Saturday before the big match-race opening, Maizie walked into the great hall and stood quietly watching as the jazz performer worked his magic on the grand piano. Meadowlark’s rhythmic rocking, the deft movement of his hands, and his closed eyes and varying facial expressions presented a portrait of a man transfixed by the music. The sound appeared to flow through his fingers into the instrument. When he finally looked up, he saw Maizie deep in thought, swaying to the beat. Meadowlark stopped his playing. “Maizie Bean, come here. Sit down. You can sing with me.”
Maizie shyly shook her head. “Don’t have time. I have a horseback-riding lesson in an hour.”
“Seems to me you have just enough time, Maizie Bean.” He ran his fingers up and down the keyboard and began some deep, bluesy chords, looking playfully into her eyes. “Come. Sit down. You don’t have all day.” He laughed.
“Maybe for a minute.” She took a seat on the piano bench as she had seen Sugar do.
“There now, Maizie Bean. What you know about music?”
Maizie shrugged. “Nothing about music, but my daddy was a singer.”
“He was? What he sing?”
“He sang good, my mama said, but I never heard him to know what songs. She said people loved to hear him sing, but he died before I was born.”
“Do you know singing is a gift? Sho’ ’nough, a gift from God. Not just for those who can sing, but also for those who can’t. ’Cause they can listen.”
“My mama said my daddy’s voice sounded like the glory of God.”
“Now, is that right?” Meadowlark’s fingers played a few riffs, licks, and chords. “Well that there is some mighty nice singing, soundin’ like the glory of God. You sing, Maizie?”
“Oh no, not really. Just a few children’s songs in school. My mama didn’t sing much either.”
“Well I’s gonna tell you something, Maizie Bean, there ain’t nothin’ like singing. All folks can do it. It fills the empty places in your heart.
You got those?”
Maizie nodded. “I think my mama had them too, those empty places.”
“Well, let’s fill up your heart. Where’s your mama, Maizie Bean?”
“She got sick and died a few months ago.”
“I’s sho’ is sorry to hear that. Did you know if you sing your mama will hear you?”
“She will?”
“Oh yeh, I’s knows that true. My mama, she hear me every time.”
“You sing for my mama, Meadowlark.”
Meadowlark smiled and laughed, then straightened his back, hit a big chord with both hands, and began. The song started out really slow. It was a pretty song with a nice beat: up a lazy river by the old mill run. Maizie looked at Meadowlark and then back down at his hands moving on the keyboard. Meadowlark continued singing about throwing away troubles, a robin’s song, blue skies, love, moving along a lazy river. Maizie felt sad at first, but then the song’s tempo and rhythms took over and she felt happier somehow.
“That’s just like my mama and me. We were always walking along a river, when I was little. It was just the two of us trying to throw away our troubles. I have dreams about walking up rivers.”
“Child, you need to sing this song. I mean it. Really sing it from your heart. Let your mama hear you.”
“Like I said, I can’t sing.”
“Now that ain’t true. Everyone can sing.” Meadowlark laughed. “And how you know you didn’t get your daddy’s voice?” Maizie just shrugged. “Maybe God gave you your father’s talent.”
Starting to play the piano, Meadowlark turned to Maizie. “I’s gonna teach you, Maizie. We’s sho’ gonna fill your empty heart with song.”
Chapter 40
Qualifying
August 6, 1931
There was a buzz of excitement all over the backside as the match races drew close, only two days to go. The time trials for six Glidewell horses were scheduled for mid-morning. Only four would qualify for the Glidewell team. After early-morning warm-ups the horses were with their groomers. The riders were readying themselves for their qualifying time trials. There was a seriousness in the air, and no one was more serious than James. There was a problem brewing, and James was on it.
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