Golden Filly Collection One

by Lauraine Snelling

  Trish swallowed—hard.

  She looked up to see the EMTs loading a covered stretcher into the ambulance. Covered! The thought flashed through her own misery. Was someone dead? Two others were working over a jockey who groaned when they moved him.

  By the outside rail, a horse stood, head down, not putting any weight on a front leg. Trish could see blood running from the open gash caused by a compound fracture.

  She gritted her teeth. They’d probably have to put that horse down.

  “Just take it easy,” a voice from behind her said. “We have another ambulance on the way.”

  “I’m fine.” Trish turned her head very carefully so her stomach would stay down where it belonged. “I don’t need an ambulance.”

  “Why don’t you let us be the judge of that?” The first ambulance pulled away, lights flashing. “Now, any pain here?” The blond-haired young man pressed on her legs.

  Trish swallowed again. She spit out some of the track dirt. When she lifted her hands to remove her helmet, the world spun around like an out-of-control carousel.

  “Take it easy and let me help you.” The blue-uniformed man squatted in front of her, still checking her arms and legs. He finished unbuckling her helmet and handed it to her. “Now, how’s the head?”

  “Hurts, but not bad. I just feel dizzy when I move.” Trish ran her fingers over the dent in the side of her helmet. Someone had kicked her—big time. No wonder she felt funny.

  “Let’s get you on a back board and brace your neck for the ride in, just in case you’ve broken something in your neck or spine.” The EMT smiled at her as another person brought over the equipment.

  “Do I have to?” Trish pleaded. “I’ve been through this before. I’m okay, really.” She kept insisting but didn’t have the strength to fight them, especially since every time she moved her head, the world tilted.

  The ride to the hospital was mercifully short. The worst part was the lump of dirt digging a hole in her left hip. Once she’d removed that, the rest of the ride was fairly comfortable.

  “How bad is she?” Marge asked as the attendants pulled the gurney out of the ambulance. Her voice sounded rigid, as if she had to force her words from between clenched teeth.

  “Hi, Mom.” Trish raised her head and reached for her mother’s hand. “You got here awfully fast.”

  “It’s not hard when you’re following an ambulance.” Hal took her other hand. He leaned down and kissed his daughter’s cheek.

  Trish felt a tear slip from her eye and run down into her ear. She sniffed. “I’m okay, except for a dizzy head. Make them let me up, please. I don’t want to go through X-rays and everything again.”

  “Just be patient.” Marge clamped on to Trish’s hand as if her daughter might be ripped away from her. “It’s better to get checked out just—just in case—there’s more.”

  “Mo-o-m!”

  “No, she’s right, Tee. We’ll be right beside you,” her father assured her.

  The EMTs pushed the gurney through the hospital’s automatic doors and into a curtained cubicle. On three they lifted her, board and all, to a hospital gurney.

  “By the way,” the cheerful blond man said before he left, “you’re one whale of a rider. I’ve been watching you since last fall, and if I had a horse, I’d sure want you riding it. You take care, and good luck at the Derby.”

  “Thanks.” Trish waved back as he left the room. She rolled her head to the side to smile at her mom and dad. One look at her mother’s frozen face and Trish knew there was deep trouble. “B-b-but, Mom, this wasn’t my fault.”

  “It wasn’t anyone’s fault, Tee.” Her father squeezed her hand. “That’s what your mother has always tried to tell you. Accidents—serious accidents—often happen through no one’s fault, but people and horses can get hurt. Seriously hurt. Or even die.”

  Marge rubbed her arms above her elbows as if seeking some kind of warmth. Hal put his arm around her and hugged her into his side.

  “Die?” Trish remembered back to the track. “That horse I fell against. It died?”

  Hal nodded. The sorrow in his eyes as he kissed his wife’s hair penetrated the fuzziness Trish felt when she moved her head.

  “That’s not all.” It was more a statement than a question.

  Her father shook his head. “Phil Snyder was killed too. Broke his neck in the fall.”

  Marge shuddered and hid her face in Hal’s shoulder.

  Trish bit her lip on the cry that tore from her heart. Tears welled in her eyes and ran through the mud on her face and into her ears. She stared up at the square blocks of ceiling tile. “But—but I was just talking with him before the race—and he has a baby—and—and…” She didn’t have the courage to look at her mother.

  “Well, Trish, so you’re back again. We’re going to have to quit meeting this way.” The doctor stared from her face to Hal’s. “Is she worse than they told me?” His question was low, meant for Hal’s ears alone. Hal shook his head.

  The doctor paused.

  Tears slid silently from Trish’s eyes. She clenched her fists at her sides on the narrow gurney. Do not fall apart now! You’re tough. Hang in there! Her orders seemed to be working. She could swallow again.

  “I’m sorry, Trish.” The doctor picked up her hand and checked her pulse while he spoke. “Phil Snyder was a fine man, besides a good rider. That was a terrible accident.” He shifted into a more professional tone. “Now let’s see how you’re doing. They said concussion. Your vision a bit foggy?” Trish nodded. “And movement makes it worse, right?” he answered when a grimace squinted in her eyes. “Nausea?”

  “Some. But it’s better now. How about just letting me go home? I’ll be—I’m fine. Really, I am.” Trish sniffed the offensive tears back.

  The doctor moved her arms and legs, all the while asking, “Hurt here? How about here?” He checked her eyes again. “Any pain anywhere else?”

  Trish took a deep breath, almost shook her head, and caught herself just in time. “No, not really. Please, no X-rays. Just let me go home.”

  The doctor studied her for a moment. “Does this feel any different than the last concussion you had? Now be honest with me, Trish. You know what that other concussion felt like, and I can’t find anything else.”

  “About the same. I don’t feel like running track right now, but Dad’s always said I have a hard head. Guess this just shows he’s right.”

  The doctor rubbed his chin. He extended his hand. “Well, let’s get you upright and see how you do. Easy now.” He helped her sit up and swing her legs to the side.

  Trish gulped and squeezed her eyes shut. She took a deep breath, slowly raised her head, and swallowed again. The room stayed in one place. Her mother and father didn’t fade in and out like before.

  The doctor nodded. “You’ll call if you notice anything different?”

  “Yes.” She kept her head still. She’d learned that trick pretty quickly.

  “We’ll have the nurse wheel you out.” He shifted his attention to Trish’s parents. “Call me if you need me?” He studied Marge’s pale, set face. She hadn’t said a word throughout the examination.

  Trish saw him glance from Marge to Hal, a question on his face. Marge looked like she’d shrunk. Her shoulders, arms, and neck seemed squeezed inward as if she were trying to disappear. When the doctor touched her shoulder, she flinched and tucked her face into Hal’s shoulder again.

  “We’ll be fine,” Hal answered the unspoken question. “I’ll get them both home and to bed. We’ve had a pretty big shock today.” He turned toward the curtain opening. “We’ll get the car.”

  “I can give her something,” the doctor said. “Make it easier.”

  Hal smoothed a gentle hand over his wife’s hair. “I’ll let you know.” Marge seemed to shuffle as they left.

  Trish wanted to scream, but instead she asked the question quietly: “What’s wrong with my mother?”

  “An accident like this can cause shock
to family members too. Besides, you’ve all been through a lot these last months. Sometimes the body needs a break.”

  “That’s all?”

  “That’s plenty. You’ll call me if you feel worse?”

  Trish nodded as she allowed the doctor and nurse to help her into the wheelchair. “Thanks.”

  “Yeah, changing altitude’ll get you. Let me know now.” The doctor patted her hand. “About your mom too.”

  Silence filled the car on the way home. Trish lay down in the backseat, her head resting on her bent arm. The last she heard were the tires howling across the metal treads on the I-5 bridge across the Columbia River.

  “Come on, sleepyhead, we’re home.” Her father patted her shoulder gently.

  Trish sat up very carefully. “Where’s Mom?”

  “I already took her into the house and put her to bed. That seemed the best thing to do.” Hal extended his hand to help Trish from the car.

  “Why? Dad, what’s really wrong with her?”

  “Shock, I think. She’ll be okay.”

  As Trish slowly changed altitudes, Hal put his arm around her shoulders so she could lean against him. Together they mounted the steps to the front door, with Trish feeling like stopping at each level. She tightened her jaw and kept on, in spite of the woozies attacking her head.

  Never had her bed looked more inviting. Hal folded back the covers, then pulled off Trish’s boots. “Now, you call me if you need anything else,” he said.

  “Where’s David?”

  “He and Brad are down at the barns. I’m going down to tell them what happened and check on our animals, then I’ll be right back. You just get some sleep so you feel better.”

  “What about the horses I’m riding tomorrow?”

  “First of all, you’re not riding tomorrow. Give me the owners’ names later and I’ll call them.”

  “Who rode my last mount today?” Trish could feel her attention slipping.

  “I’m not sure. We left right after the accident.”

  “Oh.” His comment brought the sounds and feelings cascading back.

  After he left, Trish slipped out of her silks and under the covers. The bed welcomed her battered body. I need a shower—bad. She was asleep before she could dwell on the thought.

  Screaming horses. Groaning people. Ambulance sirens. Trish jerked awake. She took a deep breath and let her gaze rove around her room. Light from the mercury yard light cast shadows across the floor. It had been a dream, but the dream mirrored reality. Tears started again. Phil was dead—what about his family? Horses were killed. She’d never heard even the old-timers talk about an accident as bad as this one.

  “Oh, God, thank you for taking care of me out there.” She stopped the prayer. Why me? Why did Phil die and not me? Who makes the choices? And why? It all happened so quickly—and so senselessly. None of it makes any sense. She tried to shut out the thoughts. But when she clenched her eyes closed, the pain in her head came back.

  Her little nagging voice snuck by her resolve: Now you know why your mother worries so much. No matter how well you ride, an accident can happen.

  Trish wished the voice would go back to sleep. She wished she could go back to sleep. “And, Jesus, please help my mom. I know she is hurting too. And the Snyder family, help them and all the others hurt in that mess. Thanks again. Amen.” She pulled the covers back up to her chin, and slept.

  Trish felt the bathroom urge sometime in the dark hours before dawn. As she passed her parents’ bedroom, she heard them talking.

  “I can’t take any more,” her mother said between gut-wrenching sobs. “It could have been Trish out there. She was out there.”

  Trish could hear her father’s soothing murmur.

  “I—just—can’t—take—any more!”

  Trish slipped into the bathroom and quietly shut the door.

  It’s all your fault, she heard her nagger accusing her.

  It was light out when she staggered up to go to the bathroom again. If she took things easy, it wasn’t so bad. She nearly freaked when she looked in the mirror. She hadn’t washed her face, and mud from the track still outlined where her goggles had been and smeared across her cheeks and chin. She scrubbed a wet washcloth across the worst of it and went back to bed. The house was strangely silent for the 8:00 a.m. that the clock read.

  Maybe she’d dreamed that her parents talked in the night. I hope so, she thought. What if they make me quit racing?

  Hunger pangs woke her at ten. She entered an empty kitchen after a careful walk down the hall. One thing was sure, she felt much better than last night. But where was everybody? Had they left for church without telling her? She poured cold cereal and milk into a bowl and sat down at the table. After the cereal and a piece of toast, she searched for a note by the phone. None.

  She looked out the window at the driveway. All the cars were parked in their normal places, so Dad and David must be down at the barn. Shivering, she headed back to her bed. On the way she opened the closed door and glanced into her parents’ bedroom. In the darkened room, a mound raised the covers on her mother’s side of the bed.

  Trish stopped at the door. “Mom?” No answer. What could be happening? Her mother never slept late. She was always the first one up because she loved early mornings. And to miss church? Could something really be wrong with her mother?

  Chapter

  03

  Is Mom sick?” Trish confronted her father when he walked in the door.

  “Well—” Hal took the time to hang up his coat before replying. “That depends on what you call sick. She doesn’t have the flu or a cold.”

  “So?”

  “I think she just needs some time out.”

  “Because of the accident?”

  “That, and all the rest of the stress that’s been going on around here.” Hal sank into his recliner and patted the hearth beside him. “Sit down, Tee. Maybe you can help me with some ideas.”

  Trish sat down very carefully, because changing altitudes still caused her stomach to flip. Besides, she sported a couple of bruises from where she’d hit the ground. She stared at her father, waiting for him to quit fidgeting and begin. Please, please, don’t let him ask me to quit racing, she pleaded to her heavenly Father.

  “I think we have to give your mother the kind of care she’s always given us.”

  Trish clenched her eyes shut and gritted her teeth. He can’t ask me to quit. He just can’t! She opened her eyes again. Tears burned behind her eyelids.

  “I know you don’t feel too well, but if you start the dinner, I’ll help you with it.”

  Dinner! The word smacked into her brain and exploded in red, white, and blue streamers. Dinner! She released the streamers in a laugh and a hug. “Sure, Dad. I’d be glad to.”

  Trish felt like dancing into the kitchen. She was dancing in her mind even though she walked carefully. She stared into the freezer. Yep, she could thaw and fry the chicken. Potatoes—her dad could peel those; there were plenty of vegetables, corn would be good. All the while one part of her mind thought dinner, the other rejoiced. She’d still be racing!

  But by dinner her mother hadn’t come out of her room. She refused a tray; said she wasn’t hungry. While Trish and her father had a good time making the dinner, it just wasn’t right. Her mom had always been there. If she’d been gone—but that was the problem, she wasn’t gone. She was right in the bedroom, and Dad said she wasn’t really sick.

  David didn’t have a lot to say at dinner either. No one did.

  “How’s Spitfire’s leg?” Trish looked at David.

  “Uh, better.”

  “The ultrasound is helping?”

  “I guess.”

  Hal stared at his dinner. “Thanks, Tee.” He shoved the half-full plate away. “Sorry, but guess I’m not too hungry after all. Think I’ll go sit with your mother for a while.”

  A knock changed his direction from the hall to the front door. “Why, Pastor Mort. How good to see you. Come o
n in. We were just finishing dinner. Can we get you a cup of coffee?”

  Trish started to leap up, but stopped mid-jump and pushed herself up slowly. “Quick, David, clear the table. I’ll put the coffee on and…”

  The two men entered the dining room.

  “How are you, Trish?” Pastor Mort extended his hand. “I heard you were part of that horrible accident yesterday.” He squeezed her hand and patted her shoulder. “Had to come myself to make sure you were okay. Hi, David. It’s good to see you.” He glanced into the kitchen. “Marge around?”

  “Have a seat,” Hal said. “I’m glad you came by.”

  Trish picked up her dishes and escaped to the kitchen. “I’ll get some coffee going.” She listened to the friendly talk with one ear, kept her hands busy filling the coffeepot with water, and still had time to think that she looked worse than a drowned rat. At least she’d taken a hot shower, which got the kinks loosened up and the dirt off her face. But she was wearing the gross sweats she’d worn when her arm was broken. She set out mugs and arranged peanut butter cookies on a plate. As soon as the coffeemaker stopped gurgling, Trish carried the tray of refreshments into the dining room.

  “Thanks, Trish.” Pastor Mort smiled at her when she handed him a mug of coffee. “Black, just the way I like it.”

  “You’re welcome.” Her smile slipped a little as her nagger reminded her she’d forgotten to ask if he took cream and sugar. Her mother didn’t forget things like that. She should be out here. “Dad, anything else?” She set his mug on the table.

  The twinkle in her father’s eyes told her he knew exactly what she was thinking. “Thanks, Tee.”

  “Well, I’d better get down to the barn and start chores.” David snagged a cookie off the plate as he stood up. “Good to see you, Pastor.”

  Trish started to clear more dishes from the table, then stopped. Maybe if she got out of there, the two men could talk about how to help her mom. Maybe Pastor Mort could get Marge to come out of her room. “I’ll be down in a minute,” she told David.