by Linda George
“I don't pretend to understand why you'd want a boy to ride in a race drawing so much attention, but it's fine with me if he does. No wonder he's been squirming so. It's been one of his dreams, to someday race on the track in front of a grandstand full of people.”
“He'll get his wish today.”
“I hope you like fried chicken.” Mrs. Winslow stuffed some handkerchiefs into the basket to use for napkins, pushed each package aside to peer into the depths, making sure nothing had been omitted, then handed it to Tom.
“We're much obliged. Just add the cost to what I owe you.”
“You don't owe me for the basket. I’m glad to do it. I haven't seen that boy of mine so happy since his paw died, God rest his soul.” She swiped a tear with her apron. “I hope you enjoy it.”
Rosalie hugged her briefly. “I'm sure we will. Thanks again.” She waited on the porch while Tom brought a buggy from the livery. He loaded the basket in the back, then helped her into the front seat. She felt like a watch, wound too tightly, unable to run properly. Every muscle in her back ached with pressure from her poker-stiff position. Her hands, clasped in her lap, paled with the strain of fingers laced too tightly together.
Tom reached for her hands and pulled one away to hold. “I know it's hard, but you need to relax. You'll make yourself sick before we ever get there.”
She nodded tersely, unable to admit he was right. Yet, she couldn't let down even a fraction for fear she'd go all to pieces and not be able to find her way back again. If Rusty lost, she’d have to tell Tom good-bye, no matter how much he protested. How could she live without him, though? She’d be only a shell of a person.
Tom finally gave up trying to get her to talk and pointed the horses toward Cold Spring.
The race track lay two miles north of Fort Worth, just off the Cold Spring Road. Built in 1877, the track had taken some of the racing from the streets of Fort Worth, along with some of the spontaneity accompanying those races. Yet, neither the frenzy of betting nor the excitement of watching horses running to outdistance the competitor had suffered in the least. Men still paid out their meager wages in the case of the trail hand, or hundreds of dollars in the case of the richer residents of the city, to emphasize their knowledge of horse flesh and which horse would be victor over the other.
Rosalie shivered when they passed the tree where Sol Bragg had been hanged in 1875. Sol, a black man, had been accused of molesting a white woman traveling on a prairie schooner, heading west. A group of vigilantes hauled him to the tree, stood him on a platform and hung him. Rumor had it Sheriff Bill Henderson participated in the lynching. Rosalie had heard the story many times, yet seeing the tree always gave her the shivers, thinking about a man being hanged for something he may not have done. Just as she might have to pay a debt that wasn’t hers.
“What are you thinking about? Your expression is different.” Tom kissed the back of her hand.
She told him about the tree and Sol Bragg. The grass under the hanging limb still hadn't completely returned after being covered with the platform for so many years.
“Why did they leave the platform there after the hanging?”
“As a warning, I guess. Who knows why some men do the things they do?” She lapsed into silence again.
Tom had a sudden urge to turn the buggy around, head straight for the railway station and climb aboard, taking Rosalie with him. Running away wouldn't solve anything, though. They had to see it through to the end.
The picnic grounds near the race track hummed with the excitement of people arriving on horseback, in buggies and wagons. Children ran to the spring and back, taking jars of lemonade and watermelons to chill in the cool water, while their mothers spread blankets and unpacked brimming baskets. Before long, the fragrance of delicious food wafted over the grounds.
Tom spread a blanket next to Trina's. Josh spied them and came running.
“Rusty's ready to run, but I ain't never seen him so jittery. He must know who he's up against.”
“Are you sure someone didn't give him something to make him wild?” Rosalie couldn't help suspecting Zane of such a despicable act.
“No ma'am. I stayed with Rusty all night. He lay down and I rested against him. We both slept good. My friend, Roy, is with him now.”
“You've done a good job, son. How about some fried chicken?”
“You bet. My ma makes the best fried chicken in the world.” He grabbed a drumstick and bit into the crunchy crust, licking the grease from his lips as he chewed.
Rosalie bit into a piece. It had no taste that she could detect. But then, she suspected anything she ate would be the same.
Ladies arriving in buggies and carriages had dressed in their frilliest clothing, most of them carrying matching parasols to defeat the blistering effects of the sun. The colors created a moving rainbow across the grounds. Children laughed and ran back and forth, playing tag, hide and seek, kicking cans and wrestling in the grass, such as it was. With no rain these past weeks, all vegetation had tinged brown except for the mesquite.
Phillip and Marietta arrived and spread their blanket nearby. “Morning, Tom, Rosalie, Gabriel. How's that baby doing, Trina?”
“Getting bigger by the minute. We’re glad you came.”
“We wouldn't miss it.”
“Any word yet from Jeb?” Tom knew better, but hoped anyway for some news.
“Not yet. I'm expecting him today. I sent Nate on my fastest horse. He might've been back if he'd been riding Rusty.”
“Thanks, Phillip. I'm obliged for everything.”
“Let's hope he shows up before this shindig is over.” Phillip grinned, then offered to help Marietta unload their basket.
Trina and Gabriel ate hungrily and talked mostly about missing Hannah and how they wished they'd brought her with them. Numerous other babies dozed in baskets or on blankets beside their mothers, under the trees.
“Liza will take good care of her. She doesn't need to be exposed to this heat.” Gabriel reached for another piece of chicken.
“I know. I just miss her so.”
Rosalie knew she should reassure Trina, too, but couldn't find the words. Tension and fear threatened to eat her alive, from the inside out.
“Don't worry, Rosalie. It'll all turn out the way it's supposed to.” Trina reached into her basket and pulled out a bag of cookies. “How about one of these? Oatmeal raisin.”
Rosalie shook her head and smiled. Her stomach would accept no food right now.
Tom finished eating, then stood to stretch his back muscles. “I'm going to check on Rusty. Josh won't need to eat again until after the race, so don't let him have more than a cookie after that chicken. Eating a big meal now might make him sick when he rides.”
Josh nodded, licked his fingers, and ran off toward the stables.
Tom combed his fingers through Rosalie's hair which shone with dappled sunlight streaming through a sycamore tree. “You didn't eat much.”
He seemed determined to get her to speak, but she only shook her head.
He leaned to kiss her. “I'll be back soon.”
“We'll be right here.” Trina patted Rosalie's arm.
Gabriel unfolded his long legs and stood. “I'll go with Tom. Save some of those cookies for me, please.”
“I baked twelve dozen. I doubt we'll eat them all before you get back.”
Tom glanced back twice on their way to the corrals behind the grandstand. “Damn, but I'll be glad when this nightmare is over.”
“You and me both.” Gabriel's long strides matched Tom's exactly.
Two corrals. Two horses. Josh sat on the rails of Rusty's pen, staring at him as though he might disappear if he looked away for even an instant, taking his responsibility dead seriously. There was no sign of Roy. He’d probably run to join his friends in the stands. Tom clapped Josh on the shoulder.
“How's it going?”
“He's still a little nervous, but not too much. Doing better'n that sorry piece of horse fl
esh over there.”
Tom grinned at the boy's use of the phrase previously aimed at Rusty. Zane's remark had been repeated so many times, everyone in Fort Worth had heard it by now.
Gabriel approached the corral where Triumph danced around, puffing and snorting, punishing the ground with his hooves. His eyes, wide and wild, testified to his fancy breeding.
Tom stared at the horse with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Rusty was no match for this professional runner.
Gabriel let out a long breath. “I think we may have trouble, Tom.”
“Yeah. Just what I was thinking.”
“Well, maybe the rocks will help some. No way to know until they're on the track. What time is it?”
Tom pulled out his watch. “Twelve thirty. Time to warm him up.”
“Yep.”
Rusty stood perfectly still, as always, while they put the saddle on. Josh had removed so much, it resembled one of those fancy English saddles. It wasn’t much more than a butt-sized piece of leather. Rusty trembled when the girth was tightened.
Gabriel nudged Tom. “Look at the saddle they're putting on Triumph.”
English. With even less leather than Josh's.
“Damn. Well, there's nothing we can do about the saddle they're using. If we could, they could object to what we've done with this one.”
“Listen, Tom, I have some extra cattle. I could sell them and pitch in whatever they bring to help pay Rosalie's debt to Strickland.”
The offer cut Tom to the quick. “You don't think we have a chance, is that it?”
Gabriel stared at Triumph for a moment. “He could break one of those skinny legs.”
“Yeah. Rusty might sprout wings, too. Let's get him to the starting point.”
Tom boosted Josh into the saddle. He hated what he was about to suggest, but didn't feel they had a choice. “Do you have a quirt with you?”
“No sir. Rusty don't need no quirt. He runs full out just listening to me when we're running. I tell him to go faster and he does.”
Tom exchanged a long look with Gabriel, then broke a thin switch from an oak tree and handed it to Josh.
“Just in case you need a burst of speed at the end.”
Josh frowned, but tucked the switch into the back of his pants. “All right. But I'm not switching him 'less I have to.”
“That's fine, son. Just get the most speed out of Rusty you can. A lot is riding on this race.”
“Yes sir, I heard. Will that man really make Miss Kincannon clean his house the rest of her life if Rusty loses?”
Tom didn't think Zane couldn't sink any lower, but he had, with all the bragging he’d done. “Not the rest of her life, but too long. Rusty has to win. We're counting on you.”
“Yes sir. I'll do my best. I know Rusty will, too, won't you, boy.” He patted the horse's neck.
Tom led the way. He saw Rosalie and Trina in the grandstand, sitting dead center. Gabriel reached them before Tom left Josh and Rusty on the track and made his way into the stands. He passed the marshal on the way up the steps.
“Did you bring the agreement?”
He patted his pocket. “I'll see to it after the race. Good luck, Mr. McCabe. I'd hate to see the likes of Strickland win anything today.”
“Thanks. Let's hope he doesn't.”
Tom settled beside Rosalie. “He wished us luck.”
Rosalie, trembling as though her heart might burst, leaned against Tom for strength and support. She squeezed his arm, then whispered, “We'll need more than luck today. Thank you for all you've done. I love you.”
His throat closed off. All he could do was kiss her again.
The horses lined up. Rusty jittered around almost as much as Triumph. The marshal walked to the line and raised his hand.
“On your marks! Get ready! Go!”
The race had begun!
Chapter 19
Rusty beat Triumph off the starting line, pulling two lengths ahead within the first seconds of the race.
“Tom, he's ahead!”
“Triumph is slow to start, just as we heard! Look at Rusty go! Yeeehaaaaa!” Tom waved his hat over his head.
Gabriel and Trina were yelling, too. Everyone in the grandstand shouted and whistled. Children jumped up and down, ecstatic with the opportunity to be as noisy as they liked.
Rosalie released all the anguish, all the anxiety she'd been holding back and screamed along with Trina.
“Rusty! Josh! Run! Run!”
At the half mile mark, Triumph had closed the distance. Almost on Rusty's heels, the thoroughbred gained steadily.
Josh looked back over his shoulder repeatedly, talking to Rusty, urging him to run faster. But the big horse was giving everything he had. Triumph continue to gain on him. Behind them rose a dense plume of dust.
At three quarters of a mile, they ran side by side, hooves thundering, coats glistening, nostrils flared. The crowd had gone crazy. The roar of screaming and yelling spectators deafened Rosalie until her ears rang and her head pounded.
An eighth of a mile to go.
Still neck in neck, the horses thundered toward the finish line.
Tom waved his hat furiously.
Gabriel yelled, “You can do it! Use the switch, Josh! Use the switch!”
With the finish line only yards away, Josh pulled out the switch and swatted Rusty's rump with it. The horse responded with a last burst of speed, leaping ahead of Triumph for a few seconds.
Fast approaching the finish line, Triumph pulled ahead by a few inches. Rusty strained to stay even. Josh lay flat over the horse’s neck, still talking to him frantically.
They crossed the line side by side.
Dust obscured everyone’s vision to the point they all had to look to the marshal, who’d been watching the finish line intently, for confirmation on the verdict.
The marshal yelled to the crowd. The winner is…Triumph! By a nose!
Triumph had won.
Most of the crowd continued cheering.
Rosalie sank onto the hard bench. Tom, Trina and Gabriel hovered around her, distress evident on their faces.
“He lost,” Rosalie mumbled. “I lost.”
Tom slammed his hat onto the hard wooden seat. “Damn!”
Trina hugged Rosalie, tears streaming. “I'm so sorry, so sorry.”
Rosalie knew she had to gather her composure, stop her tears, and endure the terrible emptiness that had opened in her heart and soul. She had to face up to what she'd promised.
Tom sat beside her and gathered her close, his chest heaving with shuddering breaths. “We'll find a way out of this. There has to be a way out.”
“No, Tom. It's time we accepted the truth.”
“I'll never accept it, dammit! I can't live without you, and I won't let you live with that bastard!”
The marshal made his way up the steps. “Miss Kincannon, will you come with me, please?”
Rosalie nodded. “You know I have to do this, Tom. Will you come with me? Help me to be strong. I have to show him he hasn't bested me.”
Tom swiped at his eyes and nodded.
They followed the marshal to the track. The crowd continued with a deafening roar. Josh stood with Rusty, rubbing the horse's rump where he'd switched him, crying into the horse's flank. Rosalie went to him and pulled him into a hug.
“I'm sorry, Miss Kincannon,” Josh sobbed. “Rusty ran as fast as he could. I couldn't believe how hard he tried. I'm so sorry.”
Rosalie hugged him tighter. “You and Rusty did your best, Josh. Don't ever apologize for your best. Things happen the way they must.”
“But now you'll have to work for that awful man.”
“Don't worry about that. I'll expect you to come and visit me when you have time off from working on the McCabe Ranch.”
Josh's eyes rounded. “Me? Work on Mr. McCabe’s Ranch?”
“Talk to Tom. I think you'll like what he has to tell you.”
Slowly, with her back straight, shoulder
s squared, Rosalie made her way toward the marshal. Zane was surrounded by men clapping him on the back, congratulating him on a race well run.
Zane saw her staring at him. “Well, now, Miss Kincannon,” he drawled. “I have to say your horse performed admirably.”
“Thank you, Mr. Strickland.” She wasn't about to compliment Triumph. She knew she should, but she couldn't bring herself to utter the words.
The marshal cleared his throat noisily, then shouted, “Quiet! Quiet please! He unfolded the agreement, then held up his hands and waited for everyone to calm down.
“According to the agreement between these two parties, the winner, Zane Strickland, now owns the Yellow Rose Dancehall, the Kincannon home, and the Kincannon horses.” He gave Rosalie a sad look. “That includes Rusty.”
Josh yelled, “No! He can’t have Rusty! That’s not right! It’s just not right!”
She'd suppressed the thought of Rusty belonging to Zane Strickland. A bitter pill, indeed, for her and the courageous horse.
The crowd noise wasn’t nearly as loud this time, and a great deal of it included protests. Rusty whinnied, as though he were protesting, too.
“Zane Strickland is also entitled to the indentured services of Miss Rosalie Kincannon at the standard rate of indenture until the sum of two thousand dollars, a bet incurred by her father, is paid in full.”
There were no cheers at all for this pronouncement. The crowd seemed stunned.
Zane grinned. “Plus interest.”
The marshal drilled Zane with a cold stare. “No interest. The terms of the agreement, which you approved, say nothing about interest.”
Zane shrugged. “No matter. It'll take her twenty years, at least, to work off two thousand dollars.”
“You have to credit an indentured servant for every day's work. The value of the property goes toward that sum, as well. It's all spelled out in the agreement.” The marshal continued to glare at him.
“Absolutely. Of course, her room and board will be deducted from the amount she earns, along with the cost of her clothes and any doctoring she might require.” That hideous grin spread across his face.