Golden Filly Collection One

by Lauraine Snelling

  Trish nodded. She hated using a whip. As the parade to post echoed over the tinny loudspeaker, her stomach did a couple of flips. A sharp, bitter taste clawed at the back of her throat.

  “You okay, Trish?” the rider on the lead pony asked.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” Trish nearly choked on the lie. She wasn’t fine. She knew she’d better get control of herself or she’d never keep control of her horse.

  You’re afraid, her nagging voice jeered in her ear. You’re scared!

  The horse jigged and snorted as the handler at the starting gates took the lead shank. When the gate clanged behind them, the horse threw up his head. Trish tightened the reins. Her voice trembled at first, but she forced herself to continue the soothing monologue. It calmed both her and the horse.

  The last horse entered the starting gates. Trish focused on the spot between her mount’s ears. And they were off.

  Her horse paused a moment before his leap out of the gate. Then he bobbled. Trish tightened her reins to keep him on his feet. The field surged ahead of them.

  “Come on, lazy bones, you’re the one who doesn’t like a face full of dirt.” Her horse lengthened out, settling into his stride. “Come on, baby, let’s make up for lost time here.”

  They came out of the first turn gaining on the horses bunched ahead of them. Trish saw a gap between two other mounts and aimed hers right down the slot, until they drew even.

  She couldn’t do it. Echoes rang in her head. Screams. Horses falling.

  Trish pulled her mount back and swung out to go around.

  They didn’t even come in the money.

  Trish could hardly look the owner and trainer in the eye. “I’m sorry.” She clutched her saddle to her chest and stepped on the scale. She’d buckled.

  She wanted to throw up.

  Chapter

  05

  The next race wasn’t much better.

  “Are you all right, Trish?” owner Bob Diego asked in his precise accent. “You seem unlike your usual self.”

  “No, I’m fine—really.” Trish clenched her hands on the reins and took another deep breath. Maybe she should have thrown up.

  “It is sometimes difficult for a rider after a bad accident. You would tell me if this were the case?”

  Trish felt the sting of tears again. Oh, if only her father were here. She swallowed. “No, no, I’m okay.”

  Her horse reared in the starting gate. Trish managed to stay on, but visions of getting crushed against the rear gate did nothing for her nerves. They broke bad, ran poorly, and placed sixth out of a field of eight.

  Trish hated to say “I’m sorry” again, but what else could she say? The bad race wasn’t really the horse’s fault, even though he’d been acting erratic the entire time. Usually she could talk a horse out of that kind of behavior and get him running. That’s what made her a gifted jockey. She rubbed her arms, sore from fighting with the cantankerous beast all around the track.

  She didn’t have a ride again until the tenth and final race of the day. Maybe if I call Dad he can help me get over this. She shoved the thought away. How could she tell him she was afraid?

  Afraid? You’re scared stiff. She heard the nagging voice accusing her again. This time he seemed to have brought his entire family to stage a shouting match in her head.

  Trish exited through the front glass doors of The Meadows and angled across the asphalt parking lot. The voices kept pace with her marching feet.

  Scaredy cat! Scaredy cat!

  Now I know what my mother feels like.

  If you were a real Christian you’d let God take care of this.

  Worry and fear are really the same thing.

  The Bible says don’t be afraid.

  Trish clenched her hands over her ears. Her father always said God could take care of things, but if that were so, why was her mother sick in bed? Was she scared to death? Were this yucky stomach and shaky hands what her mother felt when she watched her daughter ride?

  Trish held her hands out in front of her. She couldn’t stop the trembling. She couldn’t ride another horse this way. Turning, she stared across the acres of cars to the front of the grandstand. She couldn’t let another owner down. She’d have to go back in there and tell Jason Rodgers he needed to find another rider.

  “No!” the cry tore from her heart. “God, please help me. I can’t get back up and I don’t want to chicken out.” She looked around. She was alone with her tears. Trish kept on walking, the sobs shaking her shoulders. Please help me. You promised you would.

  Remember the fog? a soft voice whispered.

  Trish nodded. She thought about the guardian-angel trucker who’d turned off the fog-bound freeway at the exit that led to their motel on their trip to Santa Anita.

  She leaned against a parked car and closed her eyes, picturing the verses printed on three-by-five cards and pinned to the wall above the desk in her bedroom. “I will never leave you nor forsake you.”

  “If you mean that, Lord, how come I feel so alone? How come I was so scared?”

  “I am with you always, even to the end of the age.”

  Boy, I feel like the end’s here right now. She wiped the tears away. It feels like I’m broken in pieces, scattered all over the place. Maybe Mom would be all right if I’d just quit racing. She’s never had problems like this before, but how can I quit?

  An old familiar song floated through her mind, like a wind chime in a gentle breeze. “Jesus loves me, this I know.…”

  Trish raised her head and looked around her. It was so real she thought a stereo must be playing.

  “God, I know you are real. And I know you hear me. I don’t know what’s going to happen but—well—you’ve been there for me in the past so I guess you’ll be there for me now.” She looked up as if expecting a cloud to open. It didn’t.

  She held out her hands. No shaking. She swallowed. Her stomach stayed down.

  Trish jogged back to the grandstand, yanked open the door, and strode back to the women jockeys’ room.

  Enveloped in the steamy hubbub, she mentally chanted the verses as she wrapped both arms around her shoulders and, rounding her back, pulled the tension out. The chant continued as she dropped forward from the waist and hugged her knees.

  “You okay, Trish?” Genie Stokes sat down on the bench beside her. Genie, a veteran rider of ten years, rode for Runnin’ On Farm when Trish couldn’t.

  “I am now.” Trish unclipped her hair and tousled it with her fingers. As she massaged her scalp, she glanced sideways at the woman beside her. “I—I really was scared.” The words came haltingly.

  “It hits the best of us. Mine was after I broke my collarbone in a really bad fall.” Genie patted Trish’s shoulder. “Besides, sometimes a little fear is a healthy thing. Keeps you from making stupid mistakes.”

  “Yeah, but this is more than a little fear.” Trish turned to look at her friend. She paused. “Ah—when you’ve been scared—um—did you ever—ahh—” Trish cleared her throat. Her voice dropped. “I went around out there. I couldn’t drive down between two other horses and the opening was big enough for a truck.”

  “So?”

  “So we didn’t even get in the money and we should have. I lost the race for that horse, that owner.”

  “Okay. You made a mistake. You were scared. But you’re smart enough to talk about it. I’ll bet dollars to doughnuts you’ll think about this again, but you’ll go on and do what you know is right. Being afraid, especially after a terrible accident like we had here, isn’t a crime. It doesn’t say you’re a bad rider or you failed.” Genie held out her hand. “Welcome to the real world of racing.”

  Trish dug up her sleeve for a tissue and blew her nose. “Thanks, Genie.” She glanced up at the round clock on the wall. “I gotta get out there. I’m up again in the tenth.”

  They won. By a nose, even after being caught in the pack up the backstretch. Trish slid off the sorrel gelding and nearly threw her arms around Jason Rodg
ers. She stopped herself in time to just shake his hand.

  His smile felt like a hug. “I knew you could do it, Trish. You’ve passed a big milestone.”

  When Trish got home, she stopped at the closed bedroom door. She hesitated, shrugged, and then went in. “Mom.”

  There was no answer from the mound in the bed.

  Trish sat down in the chair by the bed. She bit her lip. “Mom, you gotta get up and talk to us again. How can we help you if we don’t even know what’s wrong?” She waited, hoping for an answer. “I blew it today. Lost two races because I was scared.” She leaned forward and touched her mother’s shoulder. “Mom? Please wake up and talk to me. Get mad at me or something—anything.”

  Marge blinked her eyes. She stared back at Trish, then reached out to pat her daughter’s hand. Her eyes drifted closed again.

  Trish sighed. She shook her head and left the room. What were they going to do?

  In bed that night, Trish thought back over the day. Even her mother’s not talking to her didn’t dampen the thrill she felt. She’d gone to the Source for help and He’d answered. She could race again.

  He always answers, her little voice whispered. You just don’t like it when He says no or to wait.

  Trish thought about that. She turned over and snuggled the covers tight around her shoulders. So, how did you know when He said to wait? What about her mom? Had she been praying about her worrying? Would it help if Trish quit racing? Life sure could be confusing. Her prayers that night were half thank-yous and half what-do-I-do-nows. She fell asleep with a smile on her lips.

  Thursday morning on the home track, Trish rode Spitfire for the first time since Santa Anita. His leg had been cool for two days. The blue-black colt crowhopped twice between the stable and the track. He tossed his head and danced sideways, tugging at the bit.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” Trish kept a tight rein. “You’re not gonna go and mess up that knee again. We’ll take this morning slow and easy. Just listen to the birds sing. See, the sun’s even out for you.” She took a deep breath and let it out. What a four-star, incredible morning. Green, growing spring smelled like nothing else in the world.

  By the second circuit of the three-quarter-mile track, Spitfire walked flat-footed with only an occasional high-step to let off some pent-up energy. Trish settled into the saddle and leaned forward to stroke his neck.

  “You leave for the Derby in less than a week—I hope,” she told the twitching black ears. “So you gotta get back in shape.” Spitfire nodded. Trish laughed, her joy winging away with the robin that flew from the fence after serenading them.

  Thursday evening they had a family meeting—without Marge.

  “I’ll be honest with you kids,” Hal said sadly. “I don’t know what to do. The one thing I do know is that I can’t go off and leave your mother while she’s in this condition.”

  Trish stared at her hands gripped together on the table in front of her. “You mean no Derby.” Once the words were out she clenched her teeth. It just isn’t fair. They’d worked so hard. Here her dad was better, Spitfire’s leg was cool again, and now this.

  Hal reached over and covered her hands with one of his. “I know how you feel, Tee. Please try not to be angry with your mother. She can’t help what’s going on either.”

  She doesn’t seem to be trying too hard, Trish wanted to say but bit back the words.

  “I’ll be here to take care of her—of things—if you think you could go, that is,” David said.

  Trish looked from David to her father. Both of them looked worn down, tired.

  “Thanks, David, but it wouldn’t work. I couldn’t concentrate on the horse when all I can think about is your mother. And, Trish, if some miracle happens and we do go, I’ve decided to not even consider taking Firefly. We just can’t handle the extra strain right now.”

  Trish slumped on the edge of her bed a while later. Just yesterday she’d felt as if God were really there, and now He seemed to have slipped off again. She stared at the verses on the wall. Was this a no or a wait? She sighed. She’d settle for a wait until it was too late to go. And a wait meant keep praying. So she did. Even when she woke up in the middle of the night, and the first thing when she got up in the morning, and in disjointed moments after working Spitfire. “Raise you up on eagle’s wings,” floated through her mind while she brushed her teeth.

  “Your mom any better?” Rhonda asked when they met at their lockers before lunch.

  Trish shook her head. “But something’s gotta give.” She told Rhonda and Brad about the meeting the night before.

  “You really mad?” Rhonda asked.

  “I guess. Sometimes. And other times I try not to think about it. But we keep praying.” She plunked her tray down on the table. “I just know God’s gonna work this out—somehow.”

  “You going to the track?” Brad asked around a mouthful of sandwich.

  “Yeah, I have two mounts. David wants you to come help him get Final Command loaded and over to the track. He runs in the fifth tomorrow.”

  “Sure. When’re you working at your place?”

  “We’re not. After Saturday everyone is out to pasture except Spitfire. Dad says we’ll think about summer racing after the Triple Crown is over. All the horses will be better off with a good rest.”

  When Trish got home, the pastor’s car was in the drive again. He and her father were sitting in the living room talking when she stepped through the door.

  “Come here for a minute, Tee.” Her father motioned her over.

  “Hello, Trish.” Pastor Mort smiled at her.

  “Hi.” She looked back at her father. “What’s up?”

  “I—we—” Hal nodded at the serious-faced man on the sofa. “We’ve talked with the doctor and decided on a pretty serious course of action. There were two choices—either put your mother in the hospital or…”

  “The hospital? Is she worse?”

  “No.” Hal rubbed his forehead. “Your mother has chosen the second plan. Tomorrow morning, with God and Pastor Mort’s help, we’ll all go to the track and talk about what happened the day of the accident.”

  Trish sank down on the hearth. “All of us?” Her voice squeaked on the last word. The nightmares have finally quit. Will they start up again?

  Hal nodded. “I think it’ll help you too.”

  Trish shrugged. “Okay.” She wet her lips. She could hear the fish tank bubbling away in the dining room. She stared at her hands clasped between her knees. “Um-m-m, I’ve gotta get to the track. I’ve got two mounts.” She rose to her feet as though she were pushing up barbells in the weight room. Her gaze flicked from one man to the other. “You’re sure this is the best way?”

  They both nodded.

  Trish fled to her bedroom.

  Chapter

  06

  Trish battled monsters all night.

  “Yeah, I’m coming,” she answered David’s knock groggily. She could hear her brother go on down the hall. Instead of getting up, she flopped over on her back. Today they were all going to the track. Right after breakfast. The thought of food made her stomach turn over. What was going to happen to her mom? To all of them?

  Trotting Spitfire around the track blew the cobwebs away from Trish’s mind. The morning air was brisk but without the bite of winter. Spitfire tugged at the bit and every few yards danced sideways, tossing his head and snorting.

  Trish laughed. “You big goof. You know I’ll let you run again when you’re ready. Right now, Dad says jog, so jog it is.”

  Spitfire shied at something only he could see.

  “Knock it off.” Trish automatically clamped her knees and flowed right with him. “You didn’t see anything; you made it up.” Spitfire snorted again. He wasn’t even warm when they trotted back to the stable.

  “You two looked like you were having fun,” David said with a grin.

  “You should have saddled Dan’l and come too.”

  “Naw. Need to get all this done so we c
an leave.” He waved at the pile of straw outside Spitfire’s and the gray’s stalls.

  His comment brought Trish back to reality with a thump. “Yeah.”

  “Look on the good side. This could be the thing that snaps Mom out of this.” David stopped stripping the tack off Spitfire and stared at her.

  “I know.” Trish drew a circle in the dirt with her boot toe. Spitfire blew in her ear and nudged her shoulder. She reached up to scratch his ears and rubbed her cheek against the silky skin of the colt’s cheek.

  “Well?”

  “Well, it’s scary.”

  “For you or Mom?”

  Trish sorted through her confused thoughts. “Probably both. I just don’t want the nightmares to keep on forever.”

  “They won’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’m your big brother. I’m paid to know these things.” David handed her the saddle and bridle. “Don’t worry, Tee. It’ll be all right.”

  I wish people would quit telling me not to worry, Trish thought as she hung up the gear. I’m not a worrier.

  Oh no? She was sure she heard her little nagger chuckle.

  Her mother was up and dressed, huddled in the recliner with her eyes closed, when Trish walked back into the house after pulling her boots off at the bootjack on the deck.

  “Hi, Mom.” Trish started to go to her mother, then thought better of it.

  Marge nodded and blinked her eyes open as if weights had held her eyelids closed.

  Trish noted the hollows in her mother’s pale cheeks, the stringy hair. She changed directions and knelt by the chair. “You want me to help you wash your hair before we go? You know how much better that always makes us feel.” Come on, please. Let me help you like you always helped me. She bit her tongue to keep the words from escaping.

  The seconds seemed to stretch to hours.

  Marge nodded. “If you want to.”

  “I’ll get the towels and shampoo.” Trish felt like tap dancing on the ceiling.

  With her supplies in place, she walked back into the living room and picked up her mother’s limp hand. “Come on.” She tugged gently. “You’ll feel much better.” Trish felt like the parent as she led her mother by the hand into the kitchen. She adjusted the water temperature and drew the spray nozzle out.