Golden Filly Collection One

by Lauraine Snelling

  Trish grinned. “Feels good.”

  When they got back to the hotel that evening, the message light was flashing on their phone.

  “Sorry, kids,” Hal’s voice sounded both sad and weak when they returned his call. “I just won’t make it in time. You’ll have to go on to Pimlico without me.”

  Chapter

  05

  But, Dad, what’s wrong? Why can’t you come now?”

  “Trish—”

  “Are you sicker and not telling us?” Trish could hardly keep the tears from choking her voice.

  “Tee, listen to me. I don’t want to talk about this over the phone. All the arrangements for your trip are in place, and Mom and I’ll just be a bit later, that’s all. Besides, this way I won’t have to make that long drive. We’ll fly directly to Baltimore.”

  “I guess.”

  “Now, is David there? Put him on the other phone.”

  “I’m here, Dad. Have been all along.”

  Hal finished giving them directions to the Crosskeys Inn and on how to manage the trip. “You’ll meet Mel Howell at Pimlico. I’ve already talked with him. Oh, and Trish?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I think you should ride in the van just in case the horses need you. I love you kids more than you’ll ever know.”

  After they said good-bye, Trish returned the receiver to its cradle and sprawled spread-eagle across her bed. Nothing was turning out as it was supposed to. Her father had been getting better before they started traveling. Maybe they shouldn’t have come to Kentucky. Would staying home have helped? Maybe her mother had been right all along.

  Later that night Trish couldn’t get comfortable in bed. She turned one way and then the other. She punched the pillows up and kicked the bedspread off. Kicking felt good. If only there were some way to kick the cancer. Finally she turned the light back on, propped herself up on two pillows, and reached for the carved eagle her father had placed on her nightstand before he left. She smoothed a finger over the perfectly carved feathers. “If only we could soar like you,” she whispered.

  Placing the figure back under the light, Trish picked up her Bible. The verse in Isaiah 40 hadn’t changed, but the first words caught her attention. “Those who wait upon the Lord…” She read them again. Waiting had never been one of her favorite pastimes.

  Her father was learning to wait. He’d said so.

  She’d rather have the eagle’s wings now. She read the rest of the verse. “They shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.” Boy, did she need these promises now. She shut the book and closed her eyes. The words to pray wouldn’t come, only a picture of an eagle catching the thermals and soaring above the cliffs.

  Finally, Trish snapped off the light and burrowed under the covers. “Thank you, God—I think. Please take care of my dad.” The next thing she knew the alarm was ringing.

  Dawn had pinked the sky by the time Trish and David drove through the gates at Churchill Downs. They’d taken the time to pack up and check out of the hotel.

  At the stall both horses were still eating. Trish told Patrick what her father had said, then opened the tack boxes to begin packing for the trip. Everything was in order—ropes wound neatly, buckets stacked. Even the feed sacks were tied off.

  “Patrick, you’re super.” Trish turned and smiled her appreciation. “Thank you.”

  “David and I did that yesterday, figuring we’d be leaving early. All that’s left is the stuff from this morning.” Patrick tipped his fedora back and scratched his forehead. “I’m all packed too, so after you loosen ’em up, we’ll be ready to load.”

  Trish felt herself saying good-bye to Churchill Downs as she trotted Spitfire around the track. It wasn’t like at home where she knew she’d be back in the fall. After all, how many times did a West Coast farm get to bring a horse to the Derby?

  “Maybe I’ll ride here sometime on my own. What do you think?” Spitfire twitched his ears and shook his head. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” She patted his neck and tightened him down to a walk. “Maybe we’ll get to bring you here for the Breeder’s Cup in October. What would you think of that?” Spitfire snorted. “Was that a yes or a no?” The black colt tugged on the bit and pranced sideways as they left the track. “See if I ask your opinion again.” Trish jumped to the ground and handed the reins over to Patrick. She gave Spitfire a quick scratch while David switched the saddle to Sarah’s Pride.

  “How’s our girl this morning?” Trish spoke softly to the bright-sorrel filly. With one hand clamped on the reins under the filly’s chin, Trish used the other to work magic around the horse’s ears and down her cheek. Sarah’s Pride pricked her ears and nosed Trish’s shoulder. She dropped her head lower to make it easier for Trish to reach under the bridle behind her ears. Trish smoothed the forelock and rubbed down the horse’s neck.

  “You’ll be puttin’ her to sleep that way,” Patrick said as he watched Trish get better acquainted.

  “Well, we better not do that.” Trish raised her knee, and with David’s assistance swung smoothly into the saddle. “Come on, girl, let’s see how you behave.”

  Sarah’s Pride wanted to run. She snorted and pranced, throwing in a bounce or two to keep Trish alert. Halfway around the first turn, the filly shied at a blowing paper. A few strides farther she stopped to stare at something only she could see.

  By the time they returned to the barn, Trish felt as if she’d been working Gatesby, the horse who gave her so much trouble at home.

  “No wonder she doesn’t usually win,” Trish said as she slid to the ground. “She can’t keep her mind on what she’s doing. If she races like she works—” Trish shook her head. “And look at her, she’s lathered from just that bit we did. My girl, even I know you’ve got some conditioning ahead of you.” Trish slipped the filly a carrot piece.

  “Never mind, lass. We’ll turn her into a racehorse yet.” Patrick stripped off the tack while David brought out the wash gear. Once the filly was washed down and scraped dry, Trish took the lead.

  “I’ll walk her. Then let’s eat. That truck’ll be here anytime.”

  Red fell into step beside Trish after a couple of rounds on the sanded walking circle. “Hi. Guess you’re leaving pretty soon, huh?”

  “Yeah. Dad’s meeting us in Baltimore.”

  “Um-m-m.” Red seemed uncomfortable. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Trish watched him trot back to their stalls. “What’s the matter with him?” The filly kept on walking.

  “Here, let me finish.” David reached for the lead shank as soon as he joined her.

  “What’s up?” She looked from her brother to Red.

  “I need to talk with you a minute.” Red nodded toward the grassy area behind the barns. “How about over there?”

  “Fine, I guess.” She looked at David, who just shrugged. “But I don’t have much time.”

  “You rode really well yesterday.” Red kicked a stone in front of them.

  “Thanks.” Trish’s shoulder felt warm where it rubbed against his. If only he’d take her hand again. If only she were brave enough to take his.

  Red kicked the stone again. It skittered across the gravel. Sounds from the barns faded into the distance.

  “I—I’m really going to miss you.” Red turned to Trish, and they stopped under a spreading oak tree. “I have something for you—to remember me by. But I’ll see you again.”

  Trish swallowed against the tight knot in her throat. She drew circles in the dewy grass with the toe of her boot.

  “Here.” Red took her hand in his and placed a small box in it.

  The knot turned into a lump in Trish’s throat that threatened to choke her.

  “Open it.” Red leaned closer.

  Trish smoothed the blue velvet of the flat box and finally opened it. She gasped at the sight of a finely etched gold cross on a delicate chain. “Oh, Red, it’s beautiful!” Her smile trembled, threatening tears.

  “You like it
then?”

  “Oh yes.” Trish lifted the cross and draped the chain across her palm.

  “Here, let me put it on for you.” Red took it from her, looped the chain around her neck, and fastened the clasp. “Now you have something to remember me by.” He turned her to face him again and placed his lips on hers. It was a first kiss—tentative and sweet.

  “Thank you—for the cross,” Trish whispered as she stepped back. “But I didn’t need anything to remind me of you.”

  Red smiled. “I’ll see you at Belmont for sure, Pimlico if I can possibly make it.” He brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. “I want to be there when you take the Triple Crown.”

  Trish nodded, but couldn’t speak. Her voice was lost somewhere in the sadness of leaving.

  Red threaded his fingers through hers, and they ambled back to the barn.

  Trish wiped the tears from her cheeks as they drove out the gates of Churchill Downs. She waved to Red once more, and settled back for the trip. Everything had conspired to speed them on their way, and the horses had loaded as if they were looking forward to a new place. There hadn’t been a line in the track kitchen, and the truck had arrived early.

  Trish had been pleasantly surprised when the truck drove up. Fred Robertson, the driver who had taken them in from the airport, had requested the trip.

  The drive was long but uneventful. Trish checked on the horses when they stopped for lunch. Spitfire nickered when he heard her voice and snuffled her hair as she checked the tie ropes and water buckets.

  After lunch Trish slept for a couple of hours. It kept her from thinking about having left Red and about the fact that her father was not with them. It was a good thing Fred had lots of stories to tell about racing and about the country they were passing through. His company helped Trish through her sadness.

  They pulled up to the gate at Pimlico at seven o’clock. Racing was over for the day and the evening chores finished. The area was quiet. Trish stifled a feeling of disappointment as she compared the old track at Pimlico to Churchill Downs.

  Fred read her feelings and said, “Not to worry. This place may not be as fancy as the Downs, but wait till you see how they treat you here. You and that black colt of yours are stars now, and Mel will take good care of you.”

  “Mel?”

  “Here he comes now. Mel Howell is chief of security for the Maryland Racing Association. He has a headful of tales you won’t believe.”

  Trish watched the man with military bearing approach them. His smile erased any stiffness as he stuck his hand in the truck window to shake hands with Robertson.

  “Good to see you, you old horse hauler. Been some time since you made it all the way to Baltimore.”

  “Ah know. But ah brought you someone mahghty special. Tricia Evanston, meet Mel Howell. That’s her brother and trainer in the car behind us.”

  “Welcome, Tricia. I’ve been looking forward to meeting the young lady who’s set everyone on their ears. I hear you won yesterday too.”

  Trish felt as if she’d just met an old friend. “Thank you. It’s hard to believe I’m really here.”

  “Well, let’s get you settled. Spitfire’s stall is all ready. Fred, you know the way to the stakes barn. I’ll ride in the car so I can meet the others.”

  Robertson eased the van through the gate and past several barns that glowed a faded rose in the evening light. The stakes barn was last, at the northernmost corner of the backside. It sported a fresh coat of tan paint with white trim. Potted shrubs and freshly raked sand aisles set the stakes barn apart from the gentle decay of the other barns.

  As soon as the truck stopped, Trish leaped down from the cab and swung open the doors to the van. Spitfire nickered and tossed his head. Sarah’s Pride turned her head as far as the tie-downs allowed and joined the greeting.

  “You two ready to go for a walk?” Trish asked as she palmed a piece of carrot for each. “Bet you’re hungry too.” As soon as she heard the ramp clang into position, she slipped the knot on Spitfire’s lead and led him toward the door. She started down the ramp, but Spitfire paused in the opening. His challenging whinny floated on the evening air. Horses answered from barns on two sides of them. He trumpeted again, pawing the straw in the truck with one front hoof.

  “Show-off.” Trish tugged on the lead. Spitfire shook himself, then followed her down the padded ramp, his hooves thudding a rhythm that hinted at excitement.

  “Yours is stall number ten. We left it in sand like your father requested, and there’s plenty of straw in place. We’ve put your filly in the barn there.” Mel pointed to the barn that nearly formed a T with the stakes barn, except for the drive between them. He turned to Patrick. “Sure is good to see you back in the business. We saved you a spot upstairs in the same barn, if that’s okay.”

  “Good to be back.” Patrick tipped his hat off his forehead. “Looks like most of your boarders are already here.” He gestured to the horses that watched out their stall doors.

  “Only two more after you. The guards are all in place. You can sleep easy tonight.”

  Trish kept an ear on their conversation and an eye on the trailer where Sarah’s Pride had joined David at the doorway. Like Spitfire, she announced her arrival and waited for the responses. Then she danced down the incline like a little girl let out to play.

  Trish and David walked the two horses around the stakes barn several times while Patrick oversaw the tack box moving and prepared the evening feed.

  Fred waited until they had the horses bedded down and had hauled Patrick’s suitcases up to his room. He shook hands all around and stopped at Trish.

  “Ah’ll be praying for you,” he said softly, “and yuh daddy. It’s been mah privilege to be your driver.”

  Trish started to shake his hand but instead threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. “Thank you. You made both our drives a lot of fun—and I even learned something. Lots of things, in fact.” She stepped back in time to see a tear brighten his eyes. “Wish you could stay for the next trip.”

  “Me too.” He pulled his hat on his head. “Y’all take care now.” With a final wave he climbed back into his truck and drove off.

  Trish watched until the taillights cleared the gate. She seemed to be saying an awful lot of good-byes lately.

  As the truck drove out, a long white limo pulled in and drove right up to the barn. A uniformed man stepped out.

  “I’d like you to meet your personal driver for the time you’re at Pimlico,” Mel said. “Trish and David Evanston, this is Hank Benson. Hank is a police officer here and volunteers to drive on his off hours.”

  Trish felt her jaw drop open and hang suspended. A limo—and driver—for us? She turned to David. He was trying to remain cool. He kept his jaw in place, but he couldn’t talk either.

  “Well, that’s a first.” Patrick shook his head. “Ya been flummoxed, I’d say. Downright flummoxed.”

  Trish forced her eyes off the limo and asked, “Flummoxed? Patrick, you made that word up.”

  “Me?” Patrick had his most-innocent look firmly in place—if the laughter shaking his shoulders didn’t dislodge it. “You know, lass, poleaxed.” At her look of total confusion, he turned to Mel for help.

  “Surprised. Shocked.” Mel pushed his white Pimlico hat back on his head and shrugged.

  “Right.” Trish shook her head. Adults didn’t always make sense.

  “I’m pleased to meet all of you.” Hank Benson smiled around the circle. “Now, if you’d like, I’ll put your suitcases in the trunk.”

  “You can leave your car here,” Mel told David. “Just take your gear and lock it up. No one will bother it.”

  While David went to get their suitcases, Mel said, “I’ll be around after morning works to take you and David on a tour of Pimlico. If you have any questions, we can answer them for you then. There’s a good restaurant at the Crosskeys, and of course a kitchen here at the track for the morning.”

  Trish couldn’t keep from giggling as
she settled against the soft leather seat in the limo. Her fingers itched to push all the buttons on the panel to see what they were for. The TV was obvious. There was also a stereo, and a mini-refrigerator stocked with soft drinks and ice.

  “Trish, knock it off,” David hissed. “You’re as bad as a little kid.” His fingers ignored his own words and pressed a button that rolled down the window between them and the driver.

  “Anything I can help you with?” Benson’s voice sounded metallic over the intercom. “Help yourselves to drinks and snacks. Glasses are behind that sliding panel if you’d like ice.”

  Trish melted back against the seat after fixing her Diet Coke. “Now this is the life.”

  Hank Benson clicked the intercom back on. “We’ve been following your career, Trish. My daughter, Genny, thinks the sun rises and sets on you.”

  “How old is she?” Trish tried to rest her glass casually on the leather arm beside her.

  “Twelve, and horse-crazy is far too weak a description of her. Says she’s going to be a jockey just like you. Maybe sometime while you’re here she can meet you.”

  “Sure. Would she like to meet Spitfire too?”

  “Do kids like ice cream?” Hank chuckled. “She has pictures of the two of you on her bedroom walls.” He swung the long vehicle into an underground parking garage and stopped in front of the glass doors marked Entrance. “Now let’s get you settled. What time would you like me to pick you up in the morning?”

  “Would five be okay?” David suggested.

  “You know, you can sleep in a bit if you want. Morning works last until nine-thirty.” Hank slid out of the driver’s side and came around to open the passenger door. “Might as well take it easy while you can. Besides, the reporters will mob you once you’re at the track.”

  Trish felt her butterflies take a dive. She still didn’t feel comfortable talking to the press. What if I sound like an idiot? “Six would be great.”

  The bellboy showed them to connecting rooms. “You can still order from room service,” he said, “but the dining room is about to close.”