When she got back, one of the grooms from BlueMist Farms was helping Patrick with Spitfire’s ice packs. Two others had moved the Runnin’ On Farm equipment into an empty stall.
Trish breathed a sigh of relief. Her father had been right. They really did need more help. Sarah’s Pride stuck her nose in the feed bucket and switched her tail. She already seemed to feel at home.
Trish leaned against the wall in Spitfire’s stall while he ate. She was too tired to volunteer for the moving process. Spitfire lifted his nose and blew the smell of sweet feed in Trish’s face, along with several flakes of grain. “Thanks. You’re a big help, pal.” She wiped her face with one hand and flinched when she touched the bandage over her eye.
“That place is just too far from the track,” David grumbled when he walked back into the barn. “It felt like we drove on forever.”
“There aren’t many decent hotels around here anymore,” Patrick said. “This area has really gone downhill the last few years. Most of the hotels are out by the airport.”
“Were you able to get a place on the grounds?” David asked Patrick.
He nodded, checking the ice pack again without looking up. “That I did. Now, why don’t you two take dinner back to the hotel and get some extra shut-eye. The lad here won’t be workin’ in the morning, so you can take your time about showing up. We have to be off the track by nine-thirty.”
Trish checked Spitfire’s eye again. Now that it had been cleaned up, she could tell it was just a surface wound.
“I’ll put some antiseptic on that when he’s finished eating,” Patrick said. “Be on your way now.”
Holding her head up was too much effort, so Trish let it fall against the headrest on the back of the car seat. They stopped for tacos at a fast-food place. While the food smelled good, Trish hardly felt like eating anything.
At the hotel, they found Hal sound asleep. Trish ate half a taco and shoved the rest away. “Mom, can you fix me an ice pack? I’m going to bed.” She only woke enough to mumble “thanks” when Marge came into the room and removed the pack an hour later.
In the morning Trish gasped at the freak that stared back at her in the mirror. Her right temple and upper cheek had swelled and turned a reddish purple. The puffiness nearly closed her eye.
Her shoulder felt better after a hot shower pounded the stiffness out.
She rotated it. “Ouch!” Guess I won’t do that again. Maybe I’ll let David ride the filly this morning. She looked longingly back at her bed.
David thumped on the door. “Come on, there’s work to do. And I’m hungry.”
At the thought of food, Trish’s stomach rumbled. “I’m coming.” She grabbed a windbreaker and checked the mirror one more time. “Yuck!” She stuck her tongue out at the reflection and dashed out the door.
“How is he?” she asked Patrick as soon as she walked into the barn.
Patrick raised an eyebrow. “I’m a-thinkin’ he’s looking a sight better’n you, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so.”
“Thank you, that’s just what I needed this morning.” Spitfire nickered his welcome. “How ya doing, fella?” Trish stroked his cheek. With the brown canvas pack on his leg and the swelling above his eye, Spitfire didn’t look like a stakes-race contender. Especially not the mile-and-a-half Belmont. They only had ten days to go.
“Well, see you later,” Trish said, tickling the whiskery spot on her horse’s upper lip. “I gotta take care of the girl here.”
Sarah’s Pride seemed content to walk today. They followed other horses down the narrow, tree-lined street to the entrance to the track. Some farms had hanging flower baskets decorating the overhangs of the white-trimmed barns. The grass along the curbs was neat and lush.
It was all Trish could do to keep her mouth shut. The place was incredible. And she’d thought Churchill Downs was big. “What do you think that noise is?” she asked David as he plodded beside them.
“You got me. Sounds like high-powered sprinklers of some kind, but I don’t see any.”
“Could it be crickets?”
David shook his head. “They don’t make that much noise.”
Trish stopped the filly beside a traffic guard at the crossroads. “What’s all that noise we hear?” she asked.
The guard looked surprised, then a grin split his face. “Ah, them’s cicadas.”
At the look of bafflement on Trish’s face, he explained. “They’s a large insect in the elm trees. You hear ’em in the spring and summer when the weather turns hot.”
“How do you spell what you called them?”
He wrinkled his brow. “C—sounds like an S; then I, then C—sounds like a K; then A-D-A. Accent in the middle, on the C-A. Where you from?”
“Washington.”
“D.C.?”
“No, State.”
“Ah-h-h, then you must be Tricia Evanston. Hear you had an accident yesterday. That colt of yours gonna make it?”
“Time’ll tell,” David answered for Trish.
“Well, good luck to you.” The guard tipped his hat. “And welcome to Belmont.”
“Thanks!”
Trish left David and guided Sarah’s Pride through the gates. The mile-and-a-half track seemed twice as big as any Trish had known. Portland Meadows, backside and all, would have fit nicely on the infield. The grass and shrubs were neatly trimmed, and a couple of ponds glinted in the sunlight out beyond the tote boards.
And the grandstand. “Wow! Can you believe all this?” Trish said to no one. The filly shook her head. The wide concrete pad in front of the cantilevered stands reminded Trish of Santa Anita. She could see three levels of seats with only the top one glassed in. Flower boxes with trailing plants graced the front of the second level all the way down to the open seats.
The lighted tote board read WELCOME TO BELMONT PARK.
Trish clucked the filly into a trot at the far turn. A breeze carried a woodsy smell from the trees that lined the track. As the filly trotted up the far side, Trish caught a glimpse of houses through the trees. Otherwise, it felt as if they were out in the country. Two other tracks lay off to the left as they rounded the final turn, then more barns came into view.
“Can you believe it?” Trish asked David when he met her at the exit gate. “This place is huge.”
“You haven’t seen half of it,” David said, walking beside them. “It’s like a town all its own. Only instead of houses, the streets are lined with barns.”
Back at the hotel, Hal didn’t feel up to doing the necessary paper work yet, so Trish hit her schoolbooks. Marge had brought her more homework assignments, including a Shakespearean play and two more history papers to write. Because Trish wouldn’t be in class, her teacher thought written papers would make up for the lectures.
“How’re you doing?” Marge tapped on Trish’s door later in the afternoon.
Trish groaned. “Come on in, Mom. I can’t begin to keep all these characters straight.” She slapped her hand on the cover of King Lear. “Why couldn’t we at least have had one of the comedies for a change?”
“I remember reading one of the historical plays,” Marge said. “We had a slumber party and everyone read the different parts. Even Henry IV can be pretty hilarious at three in the morning.” Marge sank down in the chair across from Trish at a small table.
“Then what did you do?”
“Well, it was the night before the final, so we all trooped off to class and wrote like mad. Then I came home and crashed.”
“Did you pass?”
Marge raised one eyebrow. “I got an A. That’s the best way to study Shakespeare.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “If I can find a King Lear at the bookstore, I’ll help you if you’d like.”
“If we can find a bookstore.”
“That too. You want a Diet Coke or something?”
Trish chewed on the end of her pencil. “Sure. How’s Dad?”
“Sleeping.” Marge rose to her feet. “I’ll be right back. You want anyth
ing else?”
“Another ice pack?” Trish pushed gingerly at the bandage over her puffy eye. “Maybe I should wear a mask or something.”
Marge shook her head and left quietly. She returned a short time later with soda and ice pack in hand. “Why don’t you lie down with this for a while, Trish.” She applied a damp washcloth first, and then the ice pack. “Thank God it missed your eye.”
“I know.” Trish closed her eyes and let the cold seep in. It felt so good.
The next day, after morning works, Hal appeared at the barn. “Let’s go get the paper work done, David. We can drive over there. We’ll pay the fees and then scratch later if we have to. Patrick, how does he look?”
“I’ve been using the ultrasound and ice. Think we’ll walk him a little this afternoon to limber him up some; see how badly he limps.”
“I know you’re doing everything you can. What do you think about that maiden race for fillies and mares on Wednesday for Sarah’s Pride? Do you think she’s ready for that caliber of field?”
Patrick thought a moment. “Either that or another claimer. She needs a race pretty soon. Uh-huh, that’d be a good one for her.”
“Well, let’s get over there,” Hal said. “You ready to come now too?” he spoke to Patrick.
As Trish started to climb into the car, Shipson’s trainer, Wayne Connery, stopped her. “We have a filly running this afternoon. Would you like the mount? Are you licensed yet?”
“On my way right now, and I’d love to ride her. What race?”
“Fourth. That okay?”
“Great. See you then.” Trish plunked herself back against the seat. “All right!”
Hal turned to look over his shoulder. “Are you going to be able to wear goggles over that cheek?”
Trish fingered the bandage. “I think so. It won’t be the worst thing I’ve raced with. Glad I’ve been around the track a couple of times.”
Patrick consulted his racing form. “That race is six furlongs. You’ll start halfway up the backstretch. One long, easy turn.”
“Cinch.”
And it was. Trish took the filly into the lead from the first and won going away. She accepted congratulations from the Shipsons and leaped to the ground. The winner’s circle at Belmont sparkled like a movie set. Potted plants bloomed everywhere, and there were brick risers that made it easy to get a crowd in the picture. There was even an awning over the scale.
“I could get to like this,” Trish told David that evening.
Saturday morning Hal suggested they all ride the train into New York City and take a bus tour of Manhattan.
“You sure you feel up to it?” Trish questioned.
“We’ll take it easy. Who knows when we’ll get back to this side of the country.”
Trish looked at her mother, who had the same question in her eyes. Marge nodded.
By the end of the day Trish thought her jaw must be double-hinged, it dropped open so many times. Grand Central Station arched high above them till the ceiling seemed to disappear in the dimness. People rushed every which way to trains, and there were shops along the corridors.
The Grayline bus tour lasted five short hours and took them down Fifth Avenue from Harlem to Battery Park, where they could see the Statue of Liberty in the harbor. They passed Central Park, museums, luxury hotels, and numberless skyscrapers of every description.
“I’ve never seen so many tall buildings,” Trish said in awe.
“That’s because nowhere else has this many high-rises.” The tour guide grinned at her. “Only Manhattan Island was formed from a bedrock base strong enough for all the buildings.” From upper to midtown to lower Manhattan the sights continued. Fifth Avenue, Broadway, Rockefeller Center, the famous names rolled off the guide’s tongue.
“That’s where the glittering ball falls on New Year’s Eve.” The guide pointed to a building on Times Square. “You’ve seen it on TV, I’m sure.”
Trish nodded as she craned her neck to see Madison Square Garden. “That’s the entrance?” She couldn’t believe her eyes. All the things she’d heard of happening there, and the front of it looked like a second-rate theater marquee.
At the end of the tour, Trish sighed. “There’s just too much to see here. We need to come back again.”
“We could go to the theater,” Marge said wistfully.
“Or shopping!” Trish enthused. “Wouldn’t Rhonda love to go shopping here?”
David shook his head. “Not me. Where are we going for dinner? I’m starved.”
“You’re always hungry.” Marge poked him in the arm. “Let’s get some bagels and cream cheese for breakfast.”
“Breakfast? You mean we’re skipping dinner?”
“Of course not,” Hal reassured him. “How about pizza? They say New York pizza is like no other.”
Trish flagged a cab down, and after a short ride they found a pizza place.
“That was good,” David remarked after everyone had stuffed themselves.
Trish smiled at the grin on her brother’s face. Only food could bring that look. But all the way back on the train she thought about the pills she’d seen her father take throughout the day. Since when did he take so many pills, and what were they all for?
Chapter
13
On the train returning to Belmont, Hal dozed. He had also napped when the tour bus stopped at St. John’s Cathedral, and again when they toured Chinatown. Trish was glad he had made it through the day. Now he looked as if he had stretched his limit.
The next morning, when Trish and David returned to the hotel after morning works, Hal was up and dressed.
“Dad?” Trish gathered courage to broach the subject that was bothering her.
Hal looked up from the newspaper he was reading. “What is it, Tee? You sound awfully serious.”
“What are all those pills you’ve been taking?”
Hal laid the paper in his lap. “Mostly pain pills.”
Trish felt her heart clench in her chest. “Is it that bad?”
“If I don’t take the pills it is. The doctors told me to be sure to stay on top of it. The body has to fight harder to heal itself when the pain is too severe.”
Trish sank down on the floor beside her father’s chair. “Is that why you sleep so much? The pills make you sleepy?”
“Somewhat. But fighting cancer, or any illness for that matter, takes a lot of energy.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” She leaned her head on his knees.
“Oh, Tee. You’ve had so much on your mind lately. The racing, Spitfire’s injury, then the accident. I didn’t want you to worry about me.”
Marge sat down on the arm of the chair. “That’s my job. You both know how good I am at worrying. Besides, taking care of your father gives me something to do.”
Trish smiled. “Isn’t there anything I can do?”
Hal smoothed Trish’s hair, and his love for her warmed her spirit. “Keep praying, Tee. Enjoy the moments we can spend together. We’re all doing what we can. The rest is in God’s hands.”
Trish nodded, but secretly she thought, Seems to me God isn’t doing too well right now.
Her nagger cut in, You haven’t been praying for your dad very much.
Trish had a hard time ignoring that accusation. It was true. She hadn’t been praying consistently, and she hadn’t been reviewing her verses either. Would she ever learn?
“What else haven’t you told me?” Trish asked her dad.
Hal was silent until Trish looked up at him. Had he fallen asleep?
“Nothing that I can think of. You know I’ve always tried to be honest with you kids.”
Trish nodded. She knew he had.
“All I know, Tee, is that Jesus promised to never leave us alone. No matter what happens.” He lifted her chin with one finger. “Do you believe that?”
Trish nodded. She couldn’t speak.
“Then we just take one day at a time.”
“Speaking of time—” Mar
ge looked at her watch. “We need to get David to the airport. You coming along, Trish?”
“No, I better hit the books again. There won’t be much time this next week.”
David set his suitcase on a chair. “See you Tuesday, Tee.”
“Yeah. Tell Rhonda hi for me. And Brad. You’ve got his present?”
David nodded. “In the suitcase. Anything else?”
“No. Just have fun for me.”
After her family had left, Trish stared for a long time at her history book without seeing the print. Vancouver seemed so far away. It was hard to believe that she’d really go back to school after the Belmont, like nothing had ever happened. She propped her chin on her knee. Her life had changed in the last few months. Would it ever be the same again? Did she want to go back to her old life?
That night Trish made sure she spent time praying—not just the quickies she’d been saying. She thanked God for taking care of all of them, for guarding them during the accident, for helping them win the two races. When she begged Him to make her dad better again, the tears slipped down her cheeks. “I need my dad,” she whispered.
Just before she fell asleep, a new thought came to her mind. Even though she was unhappy with God, it wasn’t like last year. She couldn’t shut Him out. God seemed more real right now.
God was in her first thoughts in the morning too. Trish shook her head. Could she call God sneaky? It seemed to fit. The thought stayed with her all the way to the track.
“Breeze her three furlongs,” Patrick said as he tossed Trish into the saddle on Monday morning. “Don’t let her drift out on you and be sure you pull her down right away.”
“She doesn’t seem to mind the blinders.” Trish stroked the filly’s fiery red neck and smoothed her mane.
“Let’s see what happens if another horse runs with you,” Patrick said. “If all goes okay, we’ll work her out of the starting gate after that.”
Sarah’s Pride seemed to know something was up. She jigged sideways until Patrick demanded she behave. Once on the track, she played crab, trotting sideways again. Trish straightened her out once, then again. The third time she pulled the filly to a stop.
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