Whitney rolled her eyes.
Emma spoke up. “It’s the coolest place, Dad. Claire and I are staying in a room with a four-poster bed.”
Gabe nodded. “My room is pretty nice, too.”
“That’s a wonderful compliment coming from someone whose mother runs a bed-and-breakfast.”
Claire perked up. “My room at home is pink,” she announced.
Pryor smiled. “Pink was always my favorite color. I wanted Whitney to have a pink room.”
“Why didn’t she?” asked Gabe.
“Are you kidding? Whitney with a pink room?” Pryor shook her head. “I don’t think so. She had to have red or fuchsia or lime-green.”
Whitney interrupted. “I think we’d all better eat up or we’ll be late for the race. I’d like Gabe and the girls to meet the jockeys before they mount.
“Hear, hear,” said Boone. “We don’t want to miss that.”
The Kentucky Derby held at Churchill Downs on the first Saturday in May had been a Whitney-Benedict family tradition since the turn of the century. Everyone even slightly affiliated with the family attended the race that began the countdown to the Triple Crown. The series of three races, beginning with the Derby and the Preakness and ending with the Belmont determined which Thoroughbred would go down in American racing history as the winner of the most prestigious purse in the racing world.
For the humans involved, it was a dress-up occasion as worthy of the right clothing as a wedding or graduation. Pryor and Whitney were slim and lovely in linen skirts and sleeveless blouses with wide-brimmed straw hats. They sat in the Benedict owners’ box sipping iced tea, scanning the crowd and pointing out familiar faces, men in white suits and bucks, women with tanned shoulders, elegant hats and high-heeled sandals.
Churchill Downs had opened at eight that morning to a sea of thousands in Lycra pantsuits, short-shorts, T-shirts, halter tops and straw hats. They flowed in steadily to the sound of rock music, cheers and hawkers offering everything from popcorn to deep-fried Twinkies.
It was nearly time. Horses were coming through the tunnel. Television cameras focused on the tanbark ring. Owners and trainers met on the paddock, searching for their own colors. Jockeys in bright silks walked down the stairs. Crowds of spectators lined the fence.
Whitney caught up with her father and his jockeys in the mounting circle. She introduced Gabe and the girls to the small, self-contained men, giants of the equine world.
“Mount up,” boomed from the loudspeakers. Strains of “My Old Kentucky Home” brought the crowd to its feet.
“Good luck,” Emma called out.
The jockey dipped his head. ‘Thank you, miss.”
They watched as the jockeys led their mounts around the clubhouse and down the long stretch to the starting gate. The gates slammed shut behind them.
“I’ll stay here,” said Boone. “Y’all go on up to the box and watch with Pryor. Hurry now. You don’t want to miss the start.”
They settled into their seats just as the shot rang out. Horses and riders surged forward around the first turn.
Whitney grabbed Gabe’s hand and leaned forward. In three minutes, it would all be over. The horses were head to head. No one had taken the lead. Burlington Stables was ahead now, with Claiborne advancing. Cinnamon Stride and Night Journey, the contenders from Whitney Downs, were still together in third place. Another Claiborne colt moved up a position, from third to second around the bend.
Whitney’s grip tightened. If someone didn’t make a move soon, their hopes for a win would be history. Then it happened. Cinnamon Stride took the bit in his mouth and moved forward from third to second position, nudging out the hard-running Claiborne colt. The line was thinning out. Slowly, Cinnamon Stride switched leads, left to right, his hooves flying over the ground, leaving the second Claiborne and Night Journey breathing dust. Like magic, the horse leaped forward, narrowing the distance between himself and Winged Hermes, now in first place.
Whitney stood and removed her hat, her heart in her throat. The crowd roared as the two horses raced through the top of the straight. The jockey flashed his stick. The horses were neck and neck. Slowly, purposefully, Cinnamon Stride pulled ahead.
Claire’s arm stole around Whitney’s waist, her eyes intent on the drama before her. Cinnamon Stride pounded the turf furiously, his jockey pumping and urging and flashing his whip. And then it was over. Cinnamon Stride opened one length and then two, sailing across the finish line by a good three-and-a-half lengths.
The crowd howled with glee.
“Oh, my God, we won,” shrieked Emma. “We won.”
“My, my.” Pryor waved her hat in front of her face. “There won’t be any living with your father. I never wanted to buy that colt, but he insisted.”
Whitney looked at Gabe. “Well, what did you think?”
He released his breath “I think your father has an iron stomach. I couldn’t do it.”
“Not many can,” agreed Pryor. She gathered Claire and Emma in her arms. “Shall we join Boone in the winner’s circle?”
“What happens now?” Emma asked Pryor.
“Now, my darling child, the parties begin. However, I think those are better left to the adults. I’ll take you home while Boone enjoys himself for a bit. Your dad and Whitney can catch up with us later.”
“Can we go riding?” asked Claire.
“You bet, honey. That’s exactly what I had in mind.”
Twenty-Seven
Pryor pointed to the new filly pressed up against her mother in the stall. “She’s just one day old,” she said to Emma and Claire. “See how alert she is? Can you imagine being able to walk when you’re only one day old? It always amazes me.”
“She’s beautiful,” Emma said reverently. “What will you name her?”
“I don’t know yet,” Pryor replied. “We have to apply to the Jockey Club to be sure the name we choose hasn’t already been used. It’s a rule with racehorses.”
Emma looked around at the blue-green grass and tall trees, at the split-rail fences, the neat layout of the barns and the wide lawn leading to the house. “I like it here,” she said. “I can see why you stayed.”
Pryor’s eyebrows rose. “There was never any choice in the matter. Where else would we go? My family has lived here for a hundred years.”
“That’s a long time.” Claire spoke for the first time. She looked at her sister. “You said Kentucky would be boring.”
“Really?” Pryor laughed. “Any place can be boring. It’s attitude that makes all the difference.”
Emma flushed. “I didn’t exactly say it would be boring. I said it wouldn’t be like California.”
“It isn’t like California,” agreed Pryor. “It has its own kind of beauty.” She wrapped an arm around Emma. “I forgive you for jumping to conclusions. You’re a child and children rarely have open minds.”
Emma didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. She resolved her problem by changing the subject. “Eric would have loved this. Too bad he didn’t come.”
“Next time,” Pryor promised. “Right now, I bet I could convince Reese to find some horses you could ride.”
“Not me,” Emma said hastily. “I don’t ride.”
“Nonsense. You don’t want your little sister to show you up, do you? Besides, I’ll stay right beside you.”
Claire clapped her hands, in a rare show of emotion. “Please ride with me, Emma.”
Emma swallowed. The truth was, horses terrified her. She didn’t mind brushing them or cleaning up after them, or even leading them around, but the thought of hauling herself up on top of a thousand-pound animal with long legs meant for running and a relatively small brain appealed to her about as much as sitting on the train tracks waiting for the Amtrak to squash her flat.
She looked at Claire. The little girl’s cheeks glowed. “I’ll watch you,” she suggested. “You go with Mrs. Benedict and I’ll stay here and watch.”
Claire’s lips turned down
. “I want you to go with me. Please, Emma.”
“Maybe Emma just wants to watch for a while.” Pryor’s voice was gentle. “She might decide to ride later.”
Emma felt small and embarrassed. Claire rarely asked for anything. “Oh, all right,” she said. “But I haven’t done much riding. I’d need a western saddle.”
Pryor laughed. “Saved by style. I don’t think we have a western saddle. Let’s check with Reese.”
They found him down another aisle of the foaling barn applying a poultice to a dark gray mare.
“What happened?” Pryor asked.
“She’s got herself a sizable cut right here on the left foreleg.”
Pryor squatted down and eyed the leg. “Have you given her some antibiotic?”
The man nodded and pushed his hat back away from his forehead. “Yes, ma’am. She should be right as rain in a few days.” He grinned at the girls. “What can I do for these lovely ladies?”
“We need two calm horses and one western saddle,” Pryor said.
“How about Pretty Woman and Prime Suspect? They’ve been out in the paddock for two days now, which should’ve gentled ’em some.” He finished wrapping the mare’s leg. “Give me a minute and I’ll see if I can scrounge up a saddle.”
“It’s okay if you can’t find one,” Emma cut in quickly. “I’m really not all that excited about riding today.”
“No problem at all, young lady. We’ll figure something out.”
Emma bit her lip. “I’d really like to be here when Whitney and my dad show up,” she tried.
“Why is that?” Pryor asked.
Emma shrugged. “It’s personal.”
Pryor turned away quickly, but not before Emma saw the smile togging at her mouth. “You do whatever you feel is best, Emma.”
Emma sighed. “I guess it’ll be all right, as long as we don’t stay out too long.”
“Not long at all,” Pryor agreed. “You can be the one to tell me when to call it quits.”
Still only partially satisfied, Emma allowed Reese to saddle up a black horse that looked way too frisky to ever be described as calm. “Are you s-sure this is the right horse?” she stammered, staring down at the top of Reese’s head while he adjusted her stirrups.
“You don’t have to worry about a thing with Prime Suspect,” he assured her. “He knows what he’s doing. Just don’t confuse him.”
Great, thought Emma, whatever that means.
Pryor mounted her gelding and moved forward so that she was beside Emma. “These horses are well trained,” she explained. “They won’t do anything unexpected, as long as you don’t give them more than one command at a time. Do you understand?”
Emma nodded. “As long as the commands are the same for all horses.”
“Coming from a dressage center, you probably have horses who know more than ours. Take it easy and do what comes naturally. I’ll be right beside you.”
“What about Claire?”
Pryor glanced at the little girl, already on a small, red- brown mare. She held the reins in her right hand and her seat was relaxed and deep in the saddle. “I don’t think we have to worry about Claire.” She smiled at Emma. “Are you ready?”
“For what?”
“Bring your knees in, sit forward and, if you feel unsteady, grab the horn.”
Pryor made a small clucking noise with her tongue. Emma’s gelding broke into a trot. She clutched the pommel and tightened her legs around the animal’s middle.
“Loosen up those legs, honey, or he’ll run,” Pryor called out. “Pull back on the reins if he’s going too fast.”
Run! That was the last thing Emma wanted a horse to do when she was on his back. Relaxing her legs was an exercise of sheer will, but she did it. Then she pulled gently on the reins. The gelding slowed. Pleased and relieved, Emma eased her grip on the horn and she followed Claire out into the ring.
Pryor followed behind. “We’ll take a few turns around here and then we’ll ride out to the track and I’ll show you where we train our horses.”
Emma glanced at her sister resentfully. Claire looked as natural and comfortable as if she was born to the breed, which in fact she was. Emma didn’t like to admit it, but it appeared that her biology teacher, the one who said genes mattered more than environment, was probably right After all, she’d been brought up in the same environment as Claire and she had no talent at all when it came to horses.
“That’s it honey,” Pryor called out. “Keep her steady. There’s plenty of room. You don’t need to hug the wall.”
Claire moved to the left. She leaned forward and loosened the reins. The horse broke into a smooth canter. They looked joined together as they flew around the exercise ring. Emma experienced a twinge of envy. Claire made it look so easy. Then she saw that her sister was laughing. Claire, who never laughed. She looked like any normal kid having a good time. Emma’s heart hurt. She swallowed and looked away.
Pryor rode beside her. “Claire’s doing really well. I didn’t expect her to be this good.”
“She’s crazy about horses. She’s had one since she was tiny. Dad gave her Lorelei, one of the Lipizzaner mares, after her pony died.”
“What happened?”
Emma shrugged. “I’m not sure. I don’t pay attention to things like that.”
“What do you pay attention to?”
“Nothing you’d be interested in.”
Pryor refused to be diverted. ‘Try me.”
“I like music, mostly rap and hard rock.”
“What else?”
“Clothes, movies, my friends. Stuff like that.”
“I like those things, too.”
Emma almost smiled. Whitney’s mom was nice, even though she tried too hard. “Thanks for inviting us here,” she said. “When I first met Whitney, I wanted to come here.”
“What made you want to come to Kentucky?”
Emma was adjusting to the steady rocking of her horse’s gait. “It was a bad time for me. I just wanted a change, that’s all.”
“From what I understand, you could have one if you wanted to.”
Emma looked at her sideways. “How’s that?”
“I heard that your other grandmother wants you to live with her.”
“That wouldn’t work at all,” Emma said emphatically. “Besides, I didn’t mean a permanent change. At the time, things weren’t working out at school.”
“Are they working out now?”
Emma thought a minute. “Sort of.”
“What does that mean?”
“I guess things don’t seem so drastic now. A few weeks ago it seemed like nothing was going right. Since then, my mom came back to visit and she says she’ll come more often, and now Dad will have money from the horses.” She shrugged, embarrassed. “I’m not explaining it very well.”
“On the contrary,” Pryor assured her. “I understand completely. At your age life has lots of ebbs and flows. Anyway, it looks like you got what you wanted, a temporary change.”
“I wonder how long Dad will let us stay.”
The frown line deepened in Pryor’s forehead. “I’m hoping he won’t take you away too soon.”
“Really?” Emma was shocked. “You like having all of us here?”
“Two children isn’t exactly a crowd, Emma, and to answer your question, I love having you here.”
Emma was pleased. She smiled at Pryor and would have said something, but a white compact pulling up in front of the ring diverted her attention. Her father and Whitney climbed out at the same time. Together they walked to the fence. Whitney leaned her arms on the top rail while her dad squinted in disbelief.
“Emma?” he called out. “Is that really you up on a horse?”
“What does it look like?” she called back.
“Hi, Daddy,” Claire called out. “Look at me.”
“I’m looking, sweetie. You’re doing great.”
His eyes kept moving to Emma. She’d straightened her back and let go o
f the saddle horn. She kept her eyes straight ahead.
“Well done, Emma,” Whitney called out.
Emma didn’t answer, but a small, satisfied smile curled the corners of her mouth.
“I’m taking the girls out to the track for about an hour,” Pryor called out to them. “Make yourselves at home.” She nodded at Emma. “Are you ready?”
Swallowing, Emma nodded. The sooner they went, the sooner it would all be over. Without looking back, she followed Pryor and Claire out of the ring.
* * *
That evening as they sat around the dining room table with Boone at one end and Pryor at the other, Whitney noticed the table was set with the special-occasion china and silver. In the flickering candlelight, her mother’s face glowed. She looked young and happy.
“Isn’t this nice?” Pryor said, clasping her hands together. “Boone, please say the blessing.”
Claire stared straight ahead and Emma looked embarrassed.
“Bow your head, dear,” Pryor said to Claire. “Like this.” She demonstrated.
Claire bowed her head.
After the mercifully short prayer, the serving bowls were passed around.
“When did you have time to make pot roast?” Whitney asked her mother.
“Pot roast isn’t any trouble if you have a Crock-Pot. There’s Derby pie and sherbet for dessert.”
“What’s Derby pie?” asked Emma.
“It’s like a chocolate chip cookie, only in a pie,” Boone explained. “It’s a Kentucky specialty and very appropriate for today’s dessert.”
“Whenever someone asks the governor’s wife for her favorite recipe, she sends that one,” Pryor added.
“Who would do that?” Emma asked.
“Children who do their homework,” her father replied.
Emma choked.
“Now, Gabe, I’m sure Emma does her homework,” Pryor chided him. “I’m so impressed with your girls. They worked hard this afternoon and not a complaint from either of them.” She beamed. “You’re very lucky to have two such charming daughters.”
“Very lucky,” Gabe agreed.
The Lavender Field Page 27