Through Tender Thorns

by Barbara Morriss

  When Leon returned with the bucket of water, Sugar was holding Josie’s hand and telling her that everything would be better soon. “You may go now, Leon.”

  “May I tell Philippe?”

  “Yes, and when Mrs. Glidewell returns, bring her straight to the cabin. Tell her there is a problem.”

  “Merci, Sugar.”

  Sugar just laughed. “Never thought I’d get in trouble with a Frenchman.” Leon was happy to hear Sugar’s comment. The “trouble” to which she referred was the right thing for them to do.

  Sugar scrubbed Josie clean and got her into the bed. The many chores she ignored this day were all for a good cause. She’d get it all done, just work harder tomorrow. When the infirm young woman finally laid back on the pillow and was neatly tucked in, Sugar took one of her white head cloths and expertly wrapped Josie’s head in a turban, like her own. “Now you look beautiful and proud like Sugar here,” Sugar whispered. Josie nodded and closed her eyes. In reality Josie looked sick, weak, and tired, but at least she was clean. Her healing could begin.

  Chapter 78

  The Fifty-Eighth Running

  of the Roses

  May 7, 1932

  Despite the gray sky, nothing could dampen the spirits of the crowd waiting excitedly to see the “running of the roses.” Betters weighed all the factors: track condition, post position, each horse’s track record. Bookies made their best, fact-based guesses. Track regulars hung around the betting windows picking up tips, carefully plotting their betting moves. The seasoned gamblers most often placed bets on the basis of good information rather than intuition. For some a trip to the racetrack was a job; for others, it was an outing, a fiesta, a sporting event, and a chance to get lucky.

  As the races continued, many spectators hung around the saddling paddocks attempting to get a glimpse of each horse and rider. Others wandered the venue, drinking nonalcoholic mint juleps in frosted silver mugs. Some spiked their drinks with medicinal spirits contained in their pocket flasks. They grumbled that they liked their juleps better before Prohibition; medicinal whiskey did not have the nuanced flavor of a good Kentucky bourbon. Some remained in the stands studying their programs while drinking their juleps, spiked or not.

  Tilly was growing bored and had no interest in betting, drinking, or reading a program. Her attention was focused on the seats below her where Capp sat with what Tilly knew was the Glidewell entourage. Capp was so engaged with Maizie that he was talking nonstop, pointing to the track as horses and riders were paraded by the grandstands. Tilly longed to be in the seat next to Capp. She would remind him of the farm and her dreams of having several entries in the Kentucky Derby. Maybe he’d begin to see what an opportunity she was presenting to him. She’d talk about Glidewell owning her farm and she and Capp could run it. He’d listen this time. If only she was sitting there with him, she knew he would warm to her; she knew he’d see the potential of her offer. She worried that this day was lost to that endeavor. There wasn’t enough time. She had to have a new plan. She put the field glasses to her eyes and saw Capp’s every move.

  Tilly watched as Capp and Maizie left their seats. She lost sight of them as they reached the bottom of the stairs. She stood abruptly and told her parents she had to use the ladies’ room and would be back shortly. Tilly scrambled down the steps in her high heels. Reaching the bottom she decided to turn toward the restrooms. Entering the ladies’ room, she went to the sink to wash her hands, all the while looking in the mirror at the women entering and leaving. No one looking like Maizie came in. She dried her hands quickly on a towel handed to her by the attendant. Walking back in the direction in which she had come, she decided to move to the front of the stands. There were many people standing abreast trying to get a look at the activity on the track. Tilly pushed her way through the crowd, but it was hopeless. She couldn’t see above all the folks gathered, and having no idea where Capp and his friend could have gone, she retreated back to the grandstand. She fought her way along, stepped awkwardly on one of her heels, and broke it. Embarrassed, angry tears pooled in her eyes as she limped to her seat.

  Chapter 79

  Around the Grounds

  When Maizie and Capp arrived at the saddling paddock, he, acting the docent, began his lecture. He pointed out the various horses and jockeys in their colorful silks. “There, Maizie, is Burgoo King, Colonel Bradley’s horse, and his jockey with the white silks with those green hoops and green hat. And over there is another one. That’s Brother Joe, a real Bradley contender.”

  Maizie watched the jockey handling Burgoo King. She noticed his grace and confidence. Turning to Capp she asked, “Do you think Tommy could teach me to race, Capp?”

  Capp laughed. “Takes a lot of leg and back strength. You got to teach the horse you’re the boss.”

  “You don’t think I can do it?”

  “A girl like you can do just about anything.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, Maizie, you have more courage than you know. Look how you can sing in front of folks.”

  “I like doin’ that. Comes natural.”

  “It’s dangerous, horse racing, for man and beast. You have to be strong.” Maizie looked into Capp’s brown eyes and could tell he meant it.

  “People die racing horses? Could Tilly race a horse?”

  “Haven’t seen Tilly ride. Doubt she’s strong enough, though she wouldn’t like me saying it.”

  Maizie felt some comfort in that remark.

  “She sure knows about racing, though. But you got to be careful around horses. Everyone has to be careful. They are big, powerful animals.” Maizie listened and noticed how different Capp’s tone was from when he left Glidewell in the fall. He was easy and warm, making her feel like she was his friend.

  When all the horses were saddled and the parade was about to begin, the bugler played “Boots and Saddles,” marking the nearing of the big race. The mayor of Louisville stood on a platform waiting for the bugler to finish. Stepping to the microphone, he made a few welcoming remarks and then yelled, “Riders up!” The crowd cheered as every jockey was given a leg up by a groom and found his center on the saddle.

  “Come Maizie, we got to get back to the stands. It won’t be long now.” Capp grabbed her hand and they ran through the crowd back to the stands.

  Slowly the horses began their walk to the track to be introduced one at a time to the throng of eager spectators. The crowd grew silent as the University of Louisville marching band began to play “My Old Kentucky Home,” the anthem of the Kentucky Derby. The crowd got to their feet and sang the words of Stephen C. Foster’s ballad. Some swayed arm in arm, others stood alone fighting off tears, but all sang with feeling. It was a tradition that had been carried on since Colonel Bradley’s Kentucky-bred Behave Yourself won the Derby in 1921. On that day, eleven years earlier, the crowd had spontaneously broken out in “My Old Kentucky Home” to celebrate the local horse’s victory. Every year since, the song marked the beginning of the ceremony leading up to the running of the Derby. On the last note, the crowd emitted a deafening roar. The race was now imminent. The crowd remained standing. A few ran, hoping they could place a last-minute bet.

  Twenty competing jockeys rode their thoroughbred mounts to the starting gate. Some of the horses were visibly excited, others calm. Handlers helped horses and jockeys, one by one, into the gate stalls. Burgoo King had drawn post thirteen and Brother Joe post eighteen. Neither positions were considered good, but anything can happen in a horse race.

  The start was clean. The crowd roared as the field of competitors charged past the grandstands. Economic took the lead, followed closely by Burgoo King; both horses neared the inside rail, the pack following close behind. Burgoo King held on to a third-place position around the first turn, and Economic sat comfortably in the lead. Suddenly Burgoo King took the outside, stretching, running hard. Brother Joe was moving into fou
rth place. Colonel Bradley’s horses were pounding around the bend. Burgoo King’s jockey released his hold slightly and the thoroughbred increased his speed. Brother Joe lost ground and fell back in the pack. Burgoo King passed Economic, increasing his lead, and was five lengths ahead nearing the finish line. A roar went up when Colonel Bradley’s horse finished first, followed by Economic and Stepenfetchit. Burgoo King, who ran the race in two minutes and five seconds, took the $5,000 gold cup and a cash reward of $52,350. Although this was a sweet, unexpected victory for Colonel Bradley and Idle Hour Farms, there was some disappointment. The horse expected to win, Brother Joe, finished nineteenth due to a tendon pull. And the last horse, listed twentieth on the race results, didn’t even finish. Liberty Limited fell lame and pulled up. His jockey wouldn’t allow the horse to complete the race. Anything can happen in a horse race.

  James, Mary, Maizie, Capp, and Wil were throwing their arms around each other, celebrating the Idle Hour Farm’s victory. “Mary, you realize we own horses with the Idle Hour blood in their veins? We could have a winner in the future. Have you ever seen anything as exciting?”

  Mary looked at James, raised her eyebrows, and then grinned. She placed her hand on his lapel and said, “Nothing is quite like a horse race, James.” James threw his betting ticket in the air, having placed a few dollars on Brother Joe, and hugged her again. Wil grinned like the Cheshire cat, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a solitary ticket for a $100 bet. Handing the ticket to Capp, he laughed. “Here Capp, read it to everyone.”

  Capp’s eyes grew wide. “Dad, you bet on Burgoo King?”

  Wil took off his Stetson and scratched his head. “You know, son, there was something about that horse. I noticed it in his workouts this week. He was a serious horse with heart. I just had a feeling about him. When I saw him this morning he was pawing and snorting in his stall and then he gave me the eye. Seemed like he knew that today was the day: his only chance to win this race.”

  “Didn’t know you brought that kind of money with you, Dad,” said Capp.

  “Just so you know, I always have a hundred with me. Think a man may need it one day. Today was my day. Come with me, Capp. Let’s go get my payout.”

  “I’ll be. You bet on a long shot with a poor post position. Congratulations, Wil. I have a lot to learn,” admitted James. “You go get your pay. How much would that be?”

  “One thousand, three hundred and twenty-four dollars. Not that I’m counting.” Wil laughed.

  Capp and Wil headed to turn in the winning ticket and collect the winnings. Leaving the stands, they made their way to the lane running behind the grandstand. It didn’t take Capp long to see Tilly standing next to a refreshment stand. She was straightening her skirt, with one of her high heels in her hand. There was no place for Capp to go and not be seen. He kept his eyes straight ahead and walked boldly past her.

  “Capp, Mr. Wembley,” she said, “did you enjoy the races?”

  Wil waited for Capp to respond and was surprised when Capp didn’t. Wil slowed to a stop and grabbed his son by the shoulder, turning as he did to talk with the woman. “Yes, Capp and I enjoyed our day. You?”

  “Oh yes, I did enjoy the races. I broke my heel, though.” She held the shoe in front of her and shrugged her shoulders. “Capp is always tellin’ me they ain’t sensible.” Capp shifted uncomfortably on his feet and clearly wished to continue on his way. “Hey, would you all come for dinner tonight? I asked Capp before, but I think it all slipped his mind.” She looked at Capp and smiled sweetly. “We have a nice post-Derby party every year. It’s a potluck but you don’t have to bring anything. There’ll be plenty. Lots of horse folks there. We have a lovely farm, Mr. Wembley. I’d love for you to see it.” Tilly dripped with Southern charm.

  Capp, annoyed by her invitation, looked at his father and then turned to Tilly. “We can’t. We’ll be having dinner with the Glidewells. We have to run now or we will be late for our ride back to the hotel.”

  “I see. Well, will the young lady I saw you with be joining you, Capp?” asked Tilly with one eyebrow raised.

  “We have to run, Tilly,” said Capp. Before he could get Wil to leave, he saw the Glidewells walking toward them. Capp shifted again, taking his father’s arm, but Wil remained firmly planted. The Glidewells stopped politely, and Capp, feeling a sense of awkwardness in the encounter, said, “Mrs. Glidewell, Maizie, you remember Matilda Coombs. She works here in the backside office. She came to the match races last summer.”

  Mary looked at Capp, who had his arms folded in front of his chest, his eyes displaying discomfort. With good social grace she simply said, “Yes, of course. Hello. You’ll excuse us please, Matilda. We are meeting our driver. We have a great deal to do this evening. Wil, Capp, you won’t be late now, will you?”

  “We will be right there,” promised Wil. “Hold the car.” Capp felt his shoulders relax as the Glidewells moved away. He grabbed his father’s arm and nudged him toward the payout windows. Wil complied. Tilly was left standing alone, staring blankly, while the crowd moved around her. Securing her broken heel under her arm, she removed a pack of gum from her pocket, unwrapped a piece, and put it in her mouth.

  Chapter 80

  Brown Hotel

  After spending an hour with the colonel at his celebration party at the Seelbach Hotel, James and the group from Glidewell returned to the Brown Hotel and enjoyed an elegant dinner in the rooftop restaurant. Later, a small orchestra provided music for dancing, and Mary and James happily took to the floor. Their years of dancing together were evident as they gracefully moved around the small dance floor. Capp sat talking with Maizie and his father about the wonderful opportunities that lay in front of them at Glidewell. Wil admitted his blood was stirring too, and the years ahead would be a challenge, one that he welcomed. “Just got to thank my lucky stars,” he said. “Without Glidewell I would have never had this opportunity.”

  “I feel lucky too. There’s lots I wouldn’t have without Glidewell,” said Maizie. “Why if my mama hadn’t told me about Glidewell—”

  “Your mother told you about Glidewell?” asked Wil.

  “Not exactly, but she always said she was going to find us a ranch one day. When she died, I decided to find a ranch myself.”

  “So you came to Glidewell because of your mother?” asked Wil.

  “Yes, kind of. I didn’t know what else to do,” said Maizie. Capp and Wil looked at each other.

  Mary and James were still dancing when Capp suddenly recognized the music. “Why, isn’t that the river song you sang with Meadowlark?”

  Maizie put down her teacup and listened. Capp was right; it was “Up the Lazy River.”

  “Maizie, let’s dance,” suggested Capp.

  “But Capp, I can’t dance. Remember when we danced at Glidewell?”

  “Yeah, but we were just having fun. Tilly taught me a little about dancing.”

  “You danced with Tilly?”

  “I did. She couldn’t quit laughing at me. So should we try? Get my confidence back?”

  Maizie nodded and waited for Capp to help her out of her chair. As the young couple walked hand in hand to the dance floor, Wil watched with great interest. Capp and Maizie were friends, he knew that. But Capp had never seemed to show much more than brotherly interest.

  The two danced slowly, just a shuffle of the feet. Capp leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I’m thinking you are the nicest person I know.”

  “Why?” asked Maizie.

  “You aren’t laughing.”

  Maizie smiled. “You are doing good, Capp. Seems Tilly got it wrong.”

  “Yeah, she got lots of things wrong, so did I,” said Capp.

  As most guests at the Brown Hotel tucked themselves into bed, a blond, buxom, intoxicated woman pulled into the parking lot. Giving her keys to the valet, she said that she might be checking into the hotel. “If not, yo
u’ll see me shortly,” she explained.

  Walking up to the registration desk, she introduced herself as a friend of Mr. Capp Wembley. “He left word with you, I’m sure, that I would be joining him?” Tilly claimed, slurring a few of her words.

  “No ma’am, he did not. He retired to his room about an hour ago. I don’t wish to disturb him.”

  “Well, this is an emergency. One of his horses is colicky. He needs to come down to the lobby and get back to Churchill Downs.”

  “Ma’am, I can’t just— ”

  “Do you wish to be the one responsible for the loss of a valuable race horse? It’s one of his new thoroughbreds. He needs to know. Just let me up there and I’ll talk to him.”

  “Ma’am, I’ll call him and tell him.”

  “Oh, don’t do that. I’ll save you the trouble. Just give me a key to his room. He won’t mind.” Tilly held out her hand, swayed on her heels, and almost stumbled.

  “Ma’am, have you been drinking?”

  Grabbing the counter to steady herself, Tilly said, “No, of course not. It’s the Prohibition, silly.”

  The desk clerk put both his fisted hands on the counter and looked at Tilly with all the authority his position allowed. “Ma’am, I’m going to ask you to leave now. I would suggest you order a ride from the valet. I will call Mr. Wembley myself and deliver your message. Now please leave. I cannot and will not open Mr. Wembley’s room for you or give you a key.”

  Tilly leaned over the counter on her forearms, exposing her cleavage. The desk clerk averted his gaze. She tried to sweet-talk him but that didn’t work either. Teetering on her heels, she attempted to open her handbag and give him some money. While she was digging around for a bit of cash, he picked up the house phone and called security. Two well-built men materialized at the desk. The clerk nodded and Tilly was swooped up by her elbows, yelling, “Don’t you touch me! Put me down!” Each security guard held her tightly as she kicked her feet in the air causing her shoes to fly across the lobby. A young bellman ran to pick them up. Waiting at the front door of the hotel was a Louisville squad car. The young bellman placed Tilly’s shoes in the backseat and the two security guards helped Tilly into the car. With that, Miss Tilly Coombs, seductress of Churchill Downs, was driven to police headquarters.