Golden Filly Collection Two

by Lauraine Snelling

  Her mother shook her two hours later. “Come on, Trish, dinner’s ready.”

  “Okay, be there in a minute.”

  David shook her fifteen minutes later. She hadn’t even heard him come into her room.

  “Okay, okay.” She pushed her hair back from her face. “What’s wrong?”

  “Trish, time to eat. Mom came and called you fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Nah.” She swung her feet off the bed and sat up. Her gaze focused on the clock. “Why’d you guys let me sleep so long?”

  David thumped her on top of her head. “Just come and eat.”

  When she shuffled out to the table, she saw Brad in his usual place. “Hi, sleepyhead.”

  “Hi.” Trish blinked once and then again. She just couldn’t wake up. “’Scuse me a moment. I need a cold-water treatment.” When she returned after dousing her face in cold water, she could at least see straight. “Now, what all did I miss out on?”

  David bowed his head. “Father, we thank you for this food, for our family and friends, and we ask you to help Trish work through this bad time. Amen.”

  Trish had a hard time swallowing. Here was David praying for her too. And saying grace just like her father used to.

  “You do that good, Davey boy, just like Dad.”

  “Thanks, he taught us well.”

  Marge watched her daughter; two little worry lines creased the space between her eyebrows. “Trish, is this typical, falling asleep like that?”

  “No, not quite the same. This time was like someone hit me over the head. Usually I just nod off. My brain turns to dandelion fluff and blows away.” She glanced from face to face around the table. “Hey, that’s a joke, guys. I’m tired a lot, can’t concentrate, that’s all.”

  “Okay, but it might be a good idea to see a doctor and get checked out. Maybe you’re anemic or something.”

  “M-o-m.” Trish felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. This felt too much like the times when Marge drove everyone nuts with her worrying. Back when they had a hard time getting along. Were those times returning?

  Marge raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Don’t panic, I’m not worrying. It’s just that sometimes parents have to insist on what they think is right—and this is one of those times.”

  “But I leave tomorrow afternoon.”

  “There are no doctors in California?”

  Trish looked up at her mother with a lopsided grin and a shake of the head. “I’ll ask Martha for the name of one.”

  “Good idea, Trish,” Patrick said from his end of the table.

  “Whew! Glad that’s over.” David nudged Brad, who also wore a look of relief. “No World War Three this time,” he added under his breath.

  “David?” Trish asked so sweetly that bees would think it was honey. “How about if I just pour this glass of water on your head now?”

  “Whoa…we better watch out!” David and Brad swapped big-brother smirks.

  The glow in her middle reminded Trish that this was the kind of stuff she missed the most.

  “How’s the chemistry coming?” David asked that evening after chores.

  “You don’t really want to know.” Trish stared glumly at the book on her lap.

  “Have you prayed about it?”

  She shot him a look of surprise. “You sound just like Dad.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment, even though right now I don’t think you meant it that way. But he was right. Ask for help. Ask God to make this stuff clear to you. If He could create the world, what’s a little chemistry?”

  “If He created it, He understands it,” Trish muttered. “It’s getting it through my thick head that’s the problem.”

  “True. But I thought you got a tutor.”

  “I did. Richard keeps trying, but he says I just don’t concentrate enough. Seems to be the story of my life lately.” Trish chose not to mention the earring, the ponytail, and the pills. Instead she told her brother about the hours she’d spent studying and the crummy test and quiz scores she’d gotten.

  “David, I just don’t like chemistry,” she whispered so her mother wouldn’t hear.

  “So pass it and be done with it,” he hissed back.

  “I need a B on the final to pull a C. You know what that’s going to do to my grade average?”

  “So—when all else fails, pray. What have you got to lose?”

  Trish dug her elbow into his rib cage. “Thank you so very much.”

  But when she went to bed that night, Trish knelt on her rug and rested her head on her clasped hands. “God, I don’t know where else to turn. As David says, you’re it. Your Word says I should ask and receive. I’m asking—for help with my chemistry, and for—to keep me awake when I need to study.” She thought for a moment. “And please get me out of the pit I’ve been in. Amen.”

  She climbed into bed. “And thank you for bringing me home.”

  Early the next morning, Trish, David, Marge, and Patrick drove north in the minivan.

  Trish yawned in the backseat. “So much for sleeping in. You really think these horses are worth buying, huh, Patrick?”

  “That I do, lass.”

  “Patrick’s looked a lot around Portland and southern Washington,” Marge said. “Your dad always said Patrick had an eye for a good horse, like a man for a pretty woman.” Marge copied Trish’s yawn. “Excuse me. Now look what you’ve started.”

  Patrick handed a sheaf of papers to Trish. “Look at these and see what you think.”

  Trish flipped through copies of registration papers, bloodlines, and racing statistics. “Which ones are you thinking of?”

  “That mare in foal to Slew, the yearling colt, and possibly one of the fillies. Depends on how much your mom wants to spend.”

  “That would give us three to train this fall. But where would we race them if Portland Meadows doesn’t open?”

  “California, I suppose.” Marge took the pages about the mare. “We thought about talking to Adam if we need to. He could race them down south if we have any good enough.”

  “They just better get the Meadows running.” Trish deciphered bloodlines while she kept track of the conversation. How strange to be having this kind of discussion with her mother.

  They left the I-5 freeway at Chehalis, heading west through dairy country. Acres of white board fences bounding knee-deep pastures announced the horse farm before the sign at the driveway.

  “Is the farm for sale too?” Trish asked. “This is beautiful.” Babies kicked up their heels in a pasture to their right and a couple of yearlings raced along the fence beside them. Up ahead, on a slight rise, the house reminded Trish of those in Kentucky—white, tall pillars in front, and an air of history.

  The barns even sported cupolas like many of those in Kentucky. “Why are they selling their horses?”

  “Anson Danielson is getting up in years, and with Seattle closing and the trouble at Portland, he feels it’s time to retire. They have no living children to take over, so they’re selling. Patrick got wind of it, and because he knew Mr. Danielson years ago, called him. You know the rest.”

  “Aren’t they having a dispersal sale?”

  “Not if they can get decent prices without it.” David glanced at Trish in the rearview mirror. “His wife has been sick and he doesn’t want all the hassle.”

  Dad should be here doing this, Trish thought as Patrick greeted the man. She sighed and followed the others. The horses were all that Patrick had said.

  Trish walked around the mare, checking confirmation as her father had taught her. She tickled the little filly’s nose and felt down her legs. Her dad said it was hard to tell anything at this age, but the filly had the look of a winner. The way she carried her head, you could tell she liked to show off. She had both the body and the bloodlines for speed.

  But there was something about the colt. What would her dad have said? This just wasn’t fair. He should be here. He worked all his life for this dream, and now he was gone
. Trish tried to think what he would say and do. First, her father would be happy, with the day and the trip and the horses. He had liked nothing better than visiting horse farms.

  She squinted her eyes to think better. Then he would have studied the horses. Really looked them over.

  She leaned her chin on her fists on the top of the board fence. While she watched the horses grazing in the field, she could almost feel her dad standing beside her. What was it about the colt?

  “So, what do you think?” Marge leaned on the fence beside her daughter.

  “Whatever.”

  “No, this has to be a family decision. If you have doubts, say so.”

  “I wish Dad were here,” Trish whispered.

  “Yeah, me too.”

  They watched the grazing animals a while longer before Marge turned and propped her elbows on the fence. “Okay now?”

  Trish nodded. “Better.” And surprisingly, she was.

  “We better get a move on or you’ll be late for your flight. We don’t have to make a decision today. I just thought you might like to see them first.”

  “But if we don’t, someone else could outbid us?”

  “There’s that.”

  “Then I’d say yes on the mare and filly, and I don’t know on the colt. Something about him bothers me. I tried to figure out what Dad would have said but I’m not sure.”

  Patrick and David joined them at the fence. “You’re right, lass, about the colt. It’s in the way he moves. No sense in buying a future problem.”

  “But he could outgrow it?” David asked.

  “Maybe.”

  “Then we agree? The mare and filly?” Marge looked to each of them in turn. At their nods, she dug in her purse and pulled out her checkbook. “I think your dad would be proud of us right now.”

  Trish gulped as her mother signed the check and handed it to Mr. Danielson. They now owned two new horses. Amazing what money could do. She dozed off on the way home in spite of the discussion about transporting and training the new additions.

  They got home just in time for her to grab her things and load the van.

  “Now, you’re stopping to see me on your way to Tucson,” she made David promise. “And, Patrick, you and Mom are coming down to see Firefly run. Maybe we’ll have a horse or two for you to look at by then.”

  “Aye, lass. That we will,” Patrick agreed. “Say hello to Adam for me.”

  Trish hugged each of them, and slid into the front seat of the minivan. “You guys take care now.”

  David slammed the door shut. “Remember what I said.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “I mean it.”

  Trish waved as Marge turned the van in the graveled drive. Caesar yipped beside them halfway down to the county road. Trish stared out the window.

  When the van turned out onto the blacktop, Trish took in a deep breath and let it out. “Mom, I meant it about you and Patrick coming to see us run. Maybe that’ll be the boost I need.”

  “All right. Call me with the date and times. I should have been down before now, but there’s been so much to do. And I hated to leave home.”

  “Great.” Trish settled back in her seat. Another idea niggled at the corner of her mind. She chewed on her cuticle. “You been talking with the Shipsons?”

  “Some, why?”

  The idea burst forth like a Fourth of July rocket. “We could go to Kentucky—you and me. On Labor Day weekend. Mrs. Shipson said to come anytime. Please, Mom, please!”

  “I don’t know, Tee. If we come to your race—then we have to ship the horses home again—and get you ready for school—and…”

  “We’ve never had a trip together, just you and me.” Trish turned so she could watch her mother’s face. “Please.”

  “Let me think about it.” Marge flashed Trish a smile. “But I don’t see why not.”

  “Yes!” Trish settled back in her seat. Who would have believed she and her mother would plan a trip together—to a horse farm, no less. Things certainly were changing.

  Trish caught herself still humming the next morning at the Finleys when she got out of bed at the first ring of the alarm. When she looked in the mirror on the drive to the track, she saw a smile on her face.

  Her “Good morning” to Adam and Carlos carried a lilt. She neatly sidestepped Gatesby when he attempted a love bite, and spent a few minutes comforting Firefly for not being ready for a morning work yet.

  When she trotted Gatesby out, they entered the smaller track because morning works were about finished. Trish had left her jacket back at the office, the sun being quite warm after peeling away the early fog.

  The gelding fought her all around the track. He wanted to run, and Adam had decreed a trot. Trish felt like lead weights were draped over her arms. As they rounded the far turn, the screech of brakes shattered the commuting hum on the freeway. The crash of colliding cars echoed over the track.

  Gatesby whirled, and before she realized what was happening, Trish catapulted over his shoulder and thumped onto the dirt. She watched Gatesby finally take his run around the track alone.

  “Stupid—good-for-nothing—” Trish called him every name she could think of. When she could breathe evenly, she got to her feet and dusted herself off.

  “You okay?” one of the officials stopped to ask while the others chased after her horse.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.” Trish watched Gatesby lead the riders around the track again. Finally one grabbed a rein and pulled him to a stop.

  “You want a ride back?” The man leaned forward to give her a hand up. Trish nodded and swung up behind him.

  “Looks like a real bad accident out there.”

  “I know. And I should know better than to take my mind off my mount even a moment. My horse was asking for trouble.”

  “And you got it. Happens to the best of us.” He dropped her at the gate where the other official held Gatesby in tow.

  “Thanks.” Trish took the reins and led the sweaty horse back to the stable. She spent the time explaining to him exactly how he should have behaved, in no uncertain terms.

  It’s your fault. Her nagger leaped into the fray. If you’d been paying better attention… Trish wished she’d landed on her resident critic.

  Gatesby rubbed his forehead against her shoulder. He knew better than to act up now.

  “What happened?” Adam strode toward her as soon as he saw her walking. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I think my pride hurts worse than my posterior. There was a major crash out on the freeway. I looked over, and my friend here dumped me. I know better than that. What’s the matter with me?”

  “Trish, Trish…”

  “I can’t even stay on a horse for a trot around the track, let alone win anything.”

  “Trish!”

  “What?” She finally looked up, caught by the command in his voice.

  “That could’ve happened to anybody. It’s no big deal; no one was hurt.…”

  “But they could have been. Gatesby could have been injured.…”

  “But he wasn’t. Just be grateful no one was hurt.” With that, Adam left her to her thoughts.

  Trish drew circles in the dirt with the toe of her boot. She tried to recapture the peace of the morning by remembering how good the weekend at home had been. Instead, she felt like she was falling into the black pit again.

  You had such a good time, even without your dad there, her nagger reminded her. Trish felt like a hand was clenching her heart—and twisting it. How could she be happy without her father there? How could any of them go on like they were? Why had she invited her mother to go to Kentucky with her—it should have been her dad. Her breath was coming in short gasps. Her heart pounded like Gatesby’s must have after his run.

  She leaned against the office wall, struggling to get her breath. The war in her head—it was too much. Her eyes filled. She grabbed her purse from the cabinet and dug for a tissue. Four white pills lay in the bottom of the tan leath
er envelope bag.

  “They’ll make you feel better.” She could almost hear Richard’s voice in her ear.

  Anything to feel better. Trish clenched a pill in her hand and strode to the water fountain. She turned the crank with one hand and watched the water arc in the sunlight. She placed the pill on her tongue and leaned forward.

  Chapter

  08

  Sorry.”

  The bump made her snort water. She coughed. Pill and water spewed across the gravel. Trish choked and gagged a second more.

  “Really, I’m sorry.”

  She turned and flung her arms around the young boy beside her. “No, thank you!” She patted his cheek and beamed into his dark brown eyes. “Thank you.”

  Trish stepped back while the boy got a drink. He kept watching over his shoulder, as if worried what she might do next.

  Trish took a drink—a long drink of plain, cold water. That had been a close call. She glanced over her shoulder. The boy walked backward, keeping a wary eye on her.

  That afternoon she brought one of Adam’s horses in for a place in the first race of the program.

  “I don’t want to hear it,” Adam ordered before she could even say a word. “That was better than I expected him to do.”

  “But I…”

  He held up a hand to stop her. “No. Just be glad for a place.”

  Trish thought about his words on the way out to the beach. “Just be glad.” Why was it so hard to be glad anymore? She thought of the weekend at home. They’d laughed and had a good time. If only her father were around to enjoy it too.

  After settling all her gear on the sand at the beach, Trish drew her father’s journal out first. When she read his words, she could almost hear his voice saying them to her. She opened to the first page. In bold letters, he had written: To God be the glory. Amen. Hal Evanston.

  She traced the letters with a fingertip. That was her dad all right—giving God the glory no matter what. She flipped the pages, reading snatches here and there. He too had pleaded why? One page was blurred with a water spot. Had his tears fallen like hers?

  She continued reading.