Golden Filly Collection Two

by Lauraine Snelling

  “Thanks, but not today. I’m on vacation, remember?”

  “That you are.” He watched as she inspected the office.

  If she closed her eyes, she could see her father sitting in his chair. She opened them quickly. He was gone. She waited, waited for the crashing pain to leap through her again. Instead, she heard a tuneless whistle—or did she?

  Caesar caught up with her when she visited the foaling stall. She scratched his ears while she waited in the empty box stall. Less than a year ago, on her birthday, they’d come home from dinner out and found Miss Tee’s dam in hard labor.

  Trish wandered down the lane to the paddocks. Miss Tee and Double Diamond rushed up to see her, and Dan’l nickered for his turn to be scratched.

  “Thank you, Father, thank you.” She rested her forehead against Dan’l’s warm neck. What words could she say? None were enough.

  When she turned for the house, she waited a moment. Such a strange feeling, but such a good one. A metallic blue Mustang was parked in the drive. When she opened the front door, she could hear Brad and Rhonda bantering in the dining room.

  Trish paused for another moment. Her father’s recliner looked like he’d just left it to go into another room. His Bible lay open on the lamp-stand beside it.

  “I thought you had a show this weekend.” Trish rounded the corner and attacked her two friends.

  “I do, I do.” Rhonda spun around and grabbed Trish around the waist. “We leave in an hour, but I couldn’t turn down your mom’s cinnamon rolls. Oh, Trish, I’m so glad you’re here!”

  “even though you won’t be.” She turned to hug Brad, the tall fourth of their four musketeers. The four young people had been best friends since grade school. “Seems like forever since I’ve seen you guys.”

  “Well, we haven’t been anywhere. How ya doing, kid?” Brad swung her off her feet. When he set her down, he cupped her face in his hands. “You’re better.” It was a statement, not a question.

  How could they all tell? Was she wearing a sign or something?

  “Come and eat!” Marge set a platter of scrambled eggs with bacon on one end of the table and one of cinnamon rolls at the other. “David, you say grace.” They all slid into their seats, Patrick where Hal used to sit, and held hands while David said the blessing.

  When Trish looked up, a tiny barb of resentment for Patrick usurping her father’s chair dug at the edge of her mind. She cringed when she remembered the blow-up not so long ago. No, she told herself, no more. Again, there was that feeling that if she turned quickly enough she would see her father smiling and nodding at her. The peace stayed with her.

  Trish took her first bite of homemade cinnamon roll and rolled her eyes in ecstasy. “Mom, no one bakes like you do. You should open a shop and sell these. You’d make a million in California.”

  “As if I had any desire to move to California. Here, Brad, have some more. I know you have a big day ahead of you.” Marge passed the plate of rolls again.

  “Why, what’s happening today?” Trish asked after a bite of scrambled eggs.

  “Brad has a job,” Rhonda answered.

  “Yeah, they laid me off at Runnin’ On Farm.” Brad waved his fork in the air. “So I had to go to work for my dad during the week. I run the stop-and-go signs on his road repair jobs, and on Saturdays I work at the cinema over at the mall. I get to see all the movies for free.”

  “Two jobs?”

  “Yeah, college costs money.”

  “I thought you were going to Clark, and you got a scholarship.”

  “I did and I am, but WSU is expensive so I’m saving ahead.” He reached for another cinnamon roll. “Trish is right, Mrs. E, you oughta go into business.”

  Marge shook her head, her smile the kind that mothers give their harebrained kids’ ideas. “I have a business already. Remember, you worked for us. And will again when the racing string comes home, if you can fit us into your busy schedule.”

  “Hey, that’s right. And this way you can make cinnamon rolls just for us.”

  “And chocolate chip cookies and peanut butter cookies,” Trish and Rhonda said together.

  “And I’ll be so far away, no one will bake for me.” David adopted a soulful look.

  “Yeah, right!” Trish sent him a pretend glare. “Like you never got any care packages when you were at WSU.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” He raised one finger in the air. “But I had to fight for my rights. Whenever a box came from home, every guy on my floor dropped in to visit. Had to hide the goodies under my bed.”

  “Phew! Along with all the dirty socks and sweaty underwear. Yuk!”

  “Okay, okay,” Marge said, laughing along with them. “I promise to bake—when I have time.”

  “You didn’t want cookies anyway.” Trish got her last dig in. She looked over at Patrick and caught the telltale sheen in his eyes. He smiled back at her and winked. Was he a mind-reader like her father?

  The day flew by like the view from a car traveling sixty miles an hour. Trish watched her mother work both Miss Tee and Double Diamond on the lunge line.

  “You’ve taught them good manners,” she said as she helped her mother brush the filly down. “This baby seems so willing to learn, she’ll be easy to train.”

  “Yes, I think so. And does she ever love to run.” Marge stopped her brushing. “You remember how much your father loved to work with the babies? He always said that was the fun part of training Thoroughbreds.”

  “I know. He’d be so proud of you, Mom.”

  “I know he is. Trish, I don’t think heaven is some faraway place. I think he knows what’s going on and—well, sometimes he seems so close.”

  “I’ve felt it at home this time too. Like if I look around quick enough, he’ll be there.” Trish rolled her lips together. “Mom, I’m so glad to be home.”

  They finished the filly and started on the colt. Trish tickled the colt’s nose so he twitched his whiskers. “You think Dad could be a guardian angel?”

  “If there is any way to be one, I’m sure he would be.”

  That evening the evanstons and Patrick adjourned to the living room after a steak dinner broiled to perfection on the barbecue and devoured out on the deck.

  “That was so good, Mom. And, David, you’re a super chef, almost as good as Dad. I haven’t had home-cooked food since the last time I was here.”

  “Don’t you eat with Adam and Martha?” Marge settled into her rocking chair.

  “I’m never there at mealtime. Leave before breakfast, lunch at the track, and then grab something quick before class.” Trish shrugged. “It’s not their fault. Martha sometimes has a plate saved for me, but I hate to put her out. They’re so good to me anyway.”

  “I know. That makes having you down there easier for me.” Marge leaned back in her chair. “How about we bring Trish up to date on the stuff we’ve been talking about. We’re going to have to make some decisions soon.”

  “What stuff?”

  Marge gave Patrick the nod. “You tell her.”

  “We’ve been looking for some more horses, like the mare I saw yesterday. I think we should buy her. I saw her filly from last year. Looks real good. In fact, we could probably get the filly too. Anson pretty much wants to sell out. What with Longacres closing and the trouble at Portland Meadows, he says he’d just as soon get out now.”

  “What trouble at the Meadows?” Trish interrupted as soon as he paused.

  “You know, more of the same. One day the place is up for sale and the next they’re closing down.” David shook his head in disgust. “Why they can’t manage that place better, I’ll never know.”

  Trish poked him in the ribs. “Maybe we oughta buy the track.”

  Marge rubbed her chin with one finger. “I’ve thought about it.”

  “What!” Trish and David stared at their mother and then each other.

  “Your mother has some good ideas,” Patrick said. “You know she’s been the business manager for your fathe
r all these years with such a tight budget, now she—you all have to think and invest wisely.”

  “Maybe I should be taking a business course instead of chemistry.” Trish slumped back, one ankle crossed over the other knee. She thought of the incredible amount of money sitting in her bank account. She hadn’t thought about investing it. She didn’t even have time to spend much of it.

  “What if Adam and I see a good claimer? Should I go for it?” She looked from Patrick to her mother and back again. “Sarah’s Pride was a good deal.”

  “We’ll think about it. We’ll probably go to the yearling sales this year too.”

  Trish went to bed that night in a total state of shock. Her mother was not only not thinking of selling the farm, but she planned to expand. She stared at the pictures of the winner’s circles. Oh, Dad, if only you were here to enjoy all this. You worked so hard for it, and now that your dream has come true, you’re missing out.

  Trish woke in the morning to gray skies, but the gray couldn’t dim the wonder she felt. Another night without nightmares. She thought back to the discussion the night before. How exciting! She threw back the covers and bounded out of bed.

  “Think I’ll take Dan’l for a ride,” she said as she entered the kitchen.

  “I think that’ll be fine after church.” Her mother set her coffee cup down on the counter. “You going down to help the guys with chores?”

  Trish nodded. “I’d really like to go riding.”

  “I know. How long since you’ve been to church?”

  “Ahh…” Trish leaned over to pull on her right boot.

  “Since the last time you were home?” Marge picked up her cup and studied her daughter over the rim.

  “Ummm…” She pulled on her left boot.

  “Martha and Adam don’t go to church?”

  “Depends on the schedule at the track.” You could have gone if you wanted to, her nagger whispered. How many races have you had on Sundays anyway? “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll be ready on time.” Trish gave up gracefully. Much as she didn’t really want to go to church, she didn’t want to cause a fracas with her mother either.

  But she had a bad feeling on the drive to their church in Orchards. And it didn’t get any better when they parked in the parking lot. I think I’ll just stay here, she wanted to cry out as they all got out of the car.

  David waited at the open van door after Marge stepped down. “You gonna wait all day?” He peered in at his sister.

  Trish chewed on her cuticle. She took a deep breath and let it out. Even so, her knees turned to mush when her feet met the ground.

  Patrick took her arm and tucked it in his. “You’ll be fine, lass,” he whispered in her ear.

  Trish stared straight ahead. She walked up the six outside steps and through the door. She shook hands with the greeters, hoping they didn’t feel her shaking.

  When she sat down in the pew, she kept her gaze glued on her hands, clenched together in her lap. The tears prickled at the first hymn. She bit them back, her teeth grinding together in the effort.

  If she didn’t look at Pastor Mort, she could handle it. She tried to block out the words he read from the Bible. She used to be so good at blocking things out. She tried to think of racing Spitfire, of the feel of him thundering for the finish.

  That was worse.

  She tried to make her mind blank. Utter failure.

  Pastor Mort entered the pulpit. He waited for the last feet to stop shuffling, the last cough and rustle.

  Trish scrunched her eyes closed.

  “Grace and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.” The voice rolled over the congregation and invaded Trish’s heart. The dammed-up tears choked her. Trish pushed herself to her feet and strode down the aisle.

  Chapter

  07

  God, I can’t do this!

  “Can I get you something?” An usher touched Trish on the shoulder as she stood at the back of the church.

  “No, no thank you.” Trish blew her nose in a soggy tissue. “I’ll be fine.” No you won’t. Her nagger even came to church with her. Unless you give it up, you’ll never be fine again. Trish hiccuped on a sob.

  “Here.” The man handed her his handkerchief.

  When Trish’s brain reformed after mushing during the tears, she thought back to what her nagger had said. Give what up? She sank down on a chair and took a shaky breath. She’d wait for her family here.

  Pastor Mort closed his sermon with the benediction. “The Lord bless you and keep you…” The words bathed Trish’s wounded feelings in the balm of love. “…and give you His peace.”

  That’s what it was. The feeling was back again. Trish sighed in relief.

  The guitars played the opening chords of the closing hymn. At the sound of her theme song, Trish fled from the church before she broke down completely. The congregation’s singing followed her out the door. “And He will raise you up on eagle’s wings.…”

  She huddled on the backseat of the van, her knees drawn up to her chest, her hands over her face. The tears poured through her fingers and soaked her hair. Finally, after what seemed eons, she pushed herself upright. She slumped against the seat, too drained to sit up. Lifting her hands to push her hair back took all her energy.

  A red and black handkerchief, big enough to be a bandanna, appeared from her right. She turned enough to see Patrick sitting on the step, extending the cloth.

  She took it and blew her nose for the millionth time. Her nose was raw, her throat was raw, and her feelings the most raw of all.

  When she put the handkerchief down, he handed her a cup of water.

  “Should I pour this over my head or down my throat?”

  “Whichever. Looks to me like you’re wet enough already.” A smile wreathed his face, telling her without a word that he understood, and that he appreciated her attempt at humor. “Aye, lass, when ye can laugh at yerself, ye be on the way.”

  “On the way to what?” Trish sniff-sniffed on a breath.

  “To learning to deal with the blows life gives ye. Yer takin’ this one young-like, but now I know you’ll be makin’ it.”

  Trish finished the water in the cup. “What makes you so sure?”

  “I just know, lass, I just know. Must be that faith that Pastor Mort talked about today.”

  “But, Patrick, the last couple of days, I thought this was all over. I felt good again for the first time in—in, I don’t know how long. And then to fall apart like this…”

  “But don’t you see, the falling apart, as you call it, is part of the giving up.” His waving hands punctuated his words.

  “But, Patrick, you keep saying give it up…but I don’t know what I’m supposed to give up.” She strangled the handkerchief.

  “The wall, lass, that tough spirit so full of anger no one could come near you.”

  “What I want to give up is the black hole I live in all the time.” The words faded away to a whisper.

  “You will.”

  David and Marge joined Patrick at the side of the minivan. When Trish opened her eyes again, most of the other cars had left the parking lot. She looked back to the church entry. Pastor Mort had only one more family to greet.

  Trish drew a staggery breath again. She sniffed and wiped her nose. “Think I’ll go see Pastor Mort. Is that okay? You guys in a hurry?”

  Marge smiled through the tears that brightened her eyes. “No, Tee, take your time.”

  Pastor Mort, the sun glistening on the bald top of his head, was just turning to go back into the church when Trish called to him. The smile on his face set her lip quivering again.

  “Ah, Trish, I’m so glad to see you.” He met her at the bottom of the steps.

  When she took his extended hand, he pulled her into a hug, then leaned back to study her face. “I could tell how hard it was for you to sit there, even as long as you did.”

  Tears pooled in her eyes again. How could there be any tears left in her body? “How come church is so h
ard? I get so tired of crying.”

  “Yes, I know.” He sat down on the step and tugged on her hand to join him. “So many people tell me that. I guess it’s because we’re more vulnerable in God’s house. I think He uses that time to draw us closer to himself so He can take the pain away.”

  “But it only hurts more.”

  “No, you only feel it more. And the more you let the feelings out, the easier it will get. Besides, what better place to fall apart than with all these people who love you and want to help any way they can? You gave them a chance to pray for you, to reach out in love. And near as I can figure, that’s what being part of the family of God is all about.”

  Trish leaned her chin on her hand on her bent knees. “I tried not to come today.”

  “I’m not surprised, but I’m sure glad you’re here.”

  “You really think I’m better?” The thought of the pills in her purse flashed through her mind.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Do you believe in angels?”

  “Of course.”

  “My mom and I wondered if Dad could be an angel.”

  “I don’t know the answer to that, Trish. But I do know that if there were any way possible for him to help you, he would.”

  “He’s all better now, isn’t he?” She rolled her lips to keep from crying out loud.

  “Yes, Trish, he is.”

  When she looked up, Pastor Mort was wiping away tears too. Trish held up Patrick’s soaked handkerchief. “I think I should buy shares in Kleenex.”

  “Oh, Trish.” Pastor Mort laughed. He blew his nose and chuckled again. “Yes, my dear, you’re definitely better.”

  “Well, I hope you’re right.” She rose to her feet and extended her hand. “Thanks. See you next time I’m home.”

  “Bless you, child.” He squeezed her hand, then held her in a firm embrace.

  When they got home, Trish felt like someone had pulled the plug and let out all the bath water. Drained was the only word that applied. She sat down on her bed to remove her shoes. She eyed the pillow. Maybe if she lay down for just a minute she’d feel like going in to help her mother make Sunday dinner. Then maybe David would help her with her chemistry.