by Ashlee Price
I felt it - I was approaching the end of one of my personal chapters.
And then it came: the call to the post for the first race. Michael set me aboard and walked Jewel onto the track toward the starting gate. My ride was nervous; his eyes wide and shifting wildly from side to side as he sized up his competition. He was a magnificent creature, and I could feel his muscles tighten beneath me as he anticipated his opportunity to prove that.
The bugle sounded, bringing everyone to attention, and Michael loaded us into position number three at the gate. In only a flash of a second it opened. We were off!
Jewel broke into the lead immediately, his massive hooves pounding the dirt like a commander leading his forces into battle. I was not much more than a feather upon his saddle, and I could feel the immense power of the muscles he brought to bear as he rounded the turn, well in the lead. I sat forward in the saddle, low and streamlined so as to become a part of the animal himself. I reined him in slightly so as to allow the other horses to sniff his flanks. That gave the others the acceptance of being dominated and helped Jewel conserve his strength. We rounded the turn, and he took over the territory with grace and ease, almost in an even glide. It felt like I was riding a magic carpet.
We approached the last turn, and one of the other horses, whose rider had held him back, broke from the pack now and was approaching our flank. I lightly kicked Jewel, alerting him to the pretender, but he already knew. His nostrils flaring, he bent his head low, and with a burst that could have been rocket engines, he sprang forward, lengthening his stride. The second horse had strength in reserve, however, and soon we were neck and neck.
I watched in slow motion as the other jockey reached over with his crop and stabbed Jewel with its pointed end. Jewel stiffened, faltered and tumbled to the track, rolling hoof over hoof as I was flung clear. The pack was demolished as they maneuvered to avoid hitting us, leaping over the heaving body of my injured giant. The race was over and Jewel lay on his side, attempting to kick with his broken foreleg. I screamed and ran to hug him as though I could somehow make it better. Michael came bounding across the track, lifting me clear and clutching me against his chest as he carried me from the track, screaming and crying with disappointment, anger and fear for my four-legged hero.
A quick exam by the track vet confirmed the worst. Jewel's life must end. He was loaded onto a trailer and removed from the track. The second race was fast approaching and this was Derby Day, but Jewel caused tears to be shed that day; tears for the loss of a magnificent specimen who could have been a contender... and for the brutal reminder that we were all spectators in life.
Once my initial shock had passed, I was examined by a doctor and found fit - at least on the outside. My heart, however, was broken. Dad's lips were locked in a thin line. He'd seen the transgression and had brought it to the attention of the track authorities. The damage, however, was already done. Jewel was gone.
"Michael, how could he do that and kill such a beautiful animal?" I cried, clinging to my husband.
Michael was angry, deeply, deeply angry. I knew he was thinking of what could have happened to me. "He won't get away with it, I promise you. This is a dirty business, Callie. I hoped you wouldn't have to face that, but it looks like they've targeted you."
"Why? Because I'm a woman?"
"Because you're a female jockey who was about to win a race that would make them look foolish. You're the winner, Callie, not your ride."
"Tough break," came a man's voice behind us. I looked over my shoulder, but Michael's reaction made mine look like a flinch.
"What are you doing here?" he asked the man who was his dad.
"That's a question I should be asking of you," Mr. Shannon shot back. "You don't have the experience to put an animal on that track, and especially not with a female jockey."
I was burning inside. I was fairly sure he knew we were married, and for all he might dislike what I represented, there was a code of conduct in our industry that frowned upon what he was doing.
Michael bent forward, his shoulders creating a shield around his dad and himself. His lips were thin and his teeth clenched as I heard him say, "It's the oddest thing, Dad. The jockey on the horse that took Callie out looked remarkably like Juan Benito, a man I've seen at your farm regularly. I don't suppose you know anything about this." His father didn't utter a word, but stared back with a mocking thin smile. "No, I didn't think so. We'll see, Dad, we'll see. I warned you before not to underestimate me. We'll see how you like being a film star."
"Don't push your luck, Michael," his dad sneered. "You won't do it because it will ruin you as well. Thought I wouldn't call your bluff, eh?" Mr. Shannon pulled a cigar out of his pocket, bit off the end and spat it onto Michael's shoe.
I knew Michael's body language too well; he was ready to spring. I calmly looped my arm around his and pulled in another direction. He felt my determination, and his protectiveness over me outweighed his anger at his father. He remained with me, although I could tell by the muscle jerking in his jaw that he wasn't done with the matter.
We didn't speak of it - it was safer that way. We sat in our box and Dad kept up a constant flow of small talk, hoping to diffuse the situation. As for me, I felt like I just wanted to go home, hug my baby, and put my jockey days behind me.
It was the fifth race and the field was much bigger than normal. These were the horses who hoped to run the Derby next year, so it was looked at as a race of elimination. They had to bring on an additional gate to accommodate the overflow. I sat forward, anxious to see that particular run as it affected how we'd train our horses for the following year. The bell sounded and the gates opened. Almost immediately there was absolute havoc as the overly full field became entangled with one another and several horses went down, their jockeys rolled upon by tons of horseflesh. The race couldn't even be completed because there was no room for the survivors to run and not become part of the melee.
A cry went out from the audience, not only at the fear of injury of the horses and riders, but at the loss of investment. This was a significant blow to the horse industry, just as an oil rig disaster would be to the oil industry or a forest fire would be to the lumber industry.
Michael saw something which made him stiffen, and then, with a touch on my arm, he left the box and disappeared. Dad and I were intent on watching the accident get sorted out. Three jockeys were taken off the track on gurneys, and the trailer for injured horses took off two. They were playing loud music over the speaker system in an attempt to calm people and restore normalcy. After all, there were another five races to be run that day.
The track was cleared and the call to the post for the next race had sounded when Michael reappeared.
"Callie, I need you."
"I need you, too, honey," I responded casually, still watching the action on the track.
"No, you don't understand. I need you to come with me, now!"
"Why?" I was alarmed. "What's wrong? Is it Josiah?"
"No, no, nothing like that. Come on and I'll fill you in on the way."
I looked at Dad, who nodded in encouragement, and got up to follow Michael. He took my arm and pulled me to a quiet corner.
"You won't believe what I'm going to say, but hear me out. One of the jockeys you just saw hauled away was riding Dad's entry in the Derby. At the very least, his leg is broken, so there's no one to ride. No one... but you."
"Me?"
He nodded. "I know it sounds crazy, but Dad is in a fix and needs a jockey who has qualified to ride here. He's desperate, and I told him I'd ask you. Now, this isn't a favor to my dad, Callie. This is a chance for you to prove what you've got. We don't have a horse in that race and he doesn't have a jockey. What better chance for you to show who you are and rise above it all? You can bet this is going to make for great press. You'll be the heroine. Will you do it, Callie? Will you?"
I gulped and my stomach instantly tightened. "Michael, is that what you want?"
He nodded. "
I want it for you, Callie. I won't lie; I also want to prove to my dad once and for all that you were worth putting aside all the others."
"The others?"
He made a face. "Okay, look, I didn't think I'd ever have to get into this, but Dad has been lining up prospective wives for me for the past five years. You weren't on his list, if you know what I mean. It wasn't you personally, but you didn't have the connections."
"Can I ask something?"
"Yes?"
"Did you marry me to get back at your dad?"
"What?" He frowned and stiffened. "Of course not, Callie. I married you because it's you. I wanted you. I didn't care about the other women or who their father was. You've always been someone I've admired; your courage, your intelligence, your integrity. I wanted children with you, Callie. I want to raise sons who would inherit your guts to stand up tall in the world."
I nodded. "I believe you. Okay, Michael. I will do this for you because I think it's important to you."
"Now you know why I married you." He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me against him. It wasn't the embrace - it was the emotion behind it. I knew him and knew him well.
That's how it came to be that when they had the call to the post for the Derby race, I was up on Midnight Red in Shannon racing silks, hastily tacked shorter and cinched at the waist to fit better. That's how it came to be that the mocking, evil-tempered Mr. Shannon was standing in his box, humbled by Michael's magnanimous gesture of family integrity.
Midnight Red and I were being led into the starting gate when the familiar but long-absent sense of panic overcame me. I could no longer make out the noises around me, and the scents of horses and people mixed in the heat of the mid-afternoon, making me nauseated and frantic to find a way out.
The gates opened. Midnight Red had been well-trained and he burst forward behind three other horses. We weren't a favorite, but the honor of even being included in the race made the horse beneath me far more valuable in reputation and in worth. I leaned forward instinctively, clenching my thighs against his flanks to stay aboard. By the first turn I'd gauged his stride and rose with him rather than on him. He felt my cooperation, and this gave him the confidence he needed to take the horse ahead of us, leaving only two.
My panic was now full-blown, and I went mentally inward. I knew Dad was on his feet out there, as proud as he could be. I heard Mom's voice, urging me on to become my own woman and leave the past where it was. It was enough, and I finally let Mom go.
I patted Midnight Red's flank. He became one with me, and one by one, the other horses were left behind. We won.
There were photographers and press, there were well-wishers and people who claimed they'd always known I could do it. More importantly, there were Dad and Michael, each of them beaming with tears in their eyes. When I pulled off my helmet and my silvery hair cascaded to my waist, there was a roar of approval. People love underdogs.
Mr. Shannon came to the winner's circle to accept the trophy. Michael stood beside him, and it may have been the proudest moment of my life. Mr. Shannon patted Michael on the shoulder as shutters snapped. The race was run, but it wasn't the whole story... not yet.
Mr. Shannon's hand holding the trophy suddenly went to his chest as his knees gave way and he crumpled onto the dirt track. There were screams, and Michael fell to the ground next to him, pumping his chest and giving him mouth to mouth. As I watched in horror, an ambulance and gurney appeared and Mr. Shannon was whisked away. Just like Jewel was all I could think.
An hour later, Michael and I, along with his mom and a nurse, stood next to Mr. Shannon's bed. He'd suffered a heart attack, and the doctors weren't encouraging. His breathing was shallow, but he was conscious enough to refuse intubation and the machines that would prolong his suffering. Michael's face was white as he held his dad's hand. "Dad," he whispered. "I love you. Hang on, Dad. We can fix this, together."
Mr. Shannon shook his head very slightly, but it was enough to make Michael's eyes fill with tears. "Don't argue with me now, old man. You've still got a few good fights left in you."
Mr. Shannon looked from his wife's to his son's face, locking eyes and communicating something only they could understand. I felt so terribly helpless, but there was one thing I could do to help. There was one last gift I had to give.
I took Michael's upper arm and led him to stand next to me, bending low over Mr. Shannon's face as he fought for his final breaths.
"Mr. Shannon, you're the finest breeder I've ever known, and it was a pleasure to win for you. I want you to know that Michael will carry on with you as an example, as will our son." Michael's head swiveled to look at me, a question in his eyes. "Mr. Shannon, you have a grandson, and his name is Josiah. I've kept his father's identity secret because I was afraid of the power you have, but you deserve to know that your blood lives on in his small body. I only wish you'd had a chance to hold him."
Mr. Shannon's eyes opened as he stared at me, and I knew he understood because he nodded once and then closed his eyes. The torch had been passed.
***
He was buried in the family plot not far from where Michael and I had first made love. I felt at peace that he'd had a chance to know.
"That was a very generous thing you did, Callie, telling Dad that in his last moments." Michael was sitting beside me next to the pool in our back yard. "I only wish it were true."
I turned to face him. "Why, Michael, it is true. You didn't believe me?"
"You're serious?"
"Oh, my God, Michael. Of course I am. I was already pregnant when Clayton kidnapped me. There was never anything between us - I woke up fully dressed and my hair wasn't hardly mussed. If he'd done anything to me, there would have been some sign . I was already pregnant, and that was one of the reasons I didn't say anything afterwards. I wanted to give Josiah some dignity, even if it was only Clayton he could claim as his father. You were nowhere to be seen, remember."
"Oh, Callie, do you know what this means to me?"
"I think so. You should know I've never been with anyone but you, Michael. You were my first and my last. Can't you even tell by looking at him? He has your eyes, your hair."
"I thought that was just wishful thinking," Michael answered, a glow on his face. "He's really mine?"
I nodded. "There's more, though. You're to be a father again. It seems a week in Ireland makes one fertile." I'd saved the news, knowing it needed to be told when the time was right.
"And all this time..." he repeated over and over in wonder. "My God, when I think how you could have been hurt in that race... Does your dad know?"
I shook my head. "Why don't you tell him?"
Michael gave me a hard hug and a resounding kiss and then headed off to tell Dad and to hold his son.
Dad came downstairs later and found me by the pool. "I hear congratulations are in order," he said and hugged me, clearing his throat because displays of affection were difficult for him. "Got to give you credit, Callie girl. You always do what you set your mind to do."
"Dad, who do you think I got that from?"
"Well, I don't know 'bout that. There was some stubbornness on your mom's side, too, you know."
I thought back to her willful ride that ended her life and nodded. "Yes, I suppose you're right, Dad."
"You know, it's mighty nice that you and Michael have finally ended up as it should have been in the beginning. And it's mighty nice that you've let me stay on with you here so I could see it happen."
"I've always told you, Dad. I'll never leave you."
He nodded and patted the back of my hand before taking the rocking chair.
***
Our daughter was born just before Christmas, on a snowy night when the temperature dipped a dozen degrees lower than the norm. We named her Jewel, in honor, well, of so many things. Not just the horse, but the green land where she'd been conceived, the triple crown we hoped one day to win, and the color she would later bring to our lives - a true tomboy, like s
omeone else I know intimately well.
***
The gym doors were opened wide to let in as much air as possible. The decorations looked like they were for a prom, but no one cared. They had come to see one another. I was dressed in pale pink; my color since the days of dogwood blooms and the silks I'd sewn in the event that someday I'd get to ride for real - as I had.
I had to get onto my tiptoes to see over the many heads. Was he there?
Just as if we were still in high school, friends had gathered into small groups, recalling old times and exchanging gossip about whatever happened to so-and-so and who was that with the cute brunette? "I don't remember him being that tall," I heard a girl nearby say. That probably went for almost every guy in the gym... except one. He was always the tall one.
Two groups drifted apart like clouds bound for different parts of the sky. Yes! There he was! Oh, god, but he was even better looking than I remembered, if that was possible. He was wearing navy slacks and an open-necked pale pink shirt with a sweater knotted about his neck. Pale pink... could he have remembered?
I looked for a ring on his left hand, but it was barren. Not all men like to wear rings, I told myself, even though I was clutching his in my pocket. It was gold, and our initials were carved inside.
Should I go inside? A couple of girls I'd known in English Lit were coming toward me, smiles wide. They'd also been part of our group on the night of the bonfire, although I hadn't seen them since.
"Callie!" the taller of the two called to me loudly. I couldn't remember her first name, so I just waved. Michael heard, though, and he was looking in my direction.
Almost as if it were a movie, the groups drifted again and he walked between them toward me, like Moses parting the Red Sea. I held my breath.
"Hello, lassie," he said, and I realized his voiced had deepened.
"Hello, Michael."