Golden Filly Collection Two

by Lauraine Snelling

  Even your Son cried, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” Father, I feel so alone. The pain—knowing I brought this on myself. I did this to my family, who are more dear to me than life itself. I did it. How will they ever forgive me?

  Trish buried her face in her hands. “Oh, Dad.” When she could see clearly again, she returned to the same page.

  But, Father, I know one thing for sure. You are in control and you love my family even more than I do. You only are worthy of praise. My Lord and my God.

  Trish shut the book. How could he do that? How?

  She flipped it open again, farther back. Again, the words of praise. She flipped the pages. It was on each one. One time it was underlined and written over so the stark words leaped off the page: I WILL PRAISE THE LORD! Another: GOD IS MY STRENGTH!

  Trish stuffed the book back into her bag and staggered to her feet. She ran down to the water and let the cold surf bathe her feet. Then, turning to the left, she trotted down the beach, her feet leaving deep imprints in the packed wet sand. When she reached the rocks blocking her way, she turned and started back, running until a pain pierced her side and her lungs burned for air.

  She dropped back on her blanket, gasping, with sweat pouring from her face. She fished a Diet Coke out of her cooler and popped the top. As her breathing steadied and her heart rate returned to normal, Trish made a decision. She held the cool can to her cheeks for a minute longer before pulling her own journal out of the bag.

  On the flyleaf she wrote, I WILL PRAISE THE LORD! She turned to the first blank page and began writing as fast as her pen would allow.

  If my father could live a life of praise when he was dying of cancer, I will do so too. I will give God the glory. I will ask for help. I will. Beginning right now.

  She dated it and signed her name.

  Then in bold, underlined, and with the letters blackened by repeated over-strokes, she wrote, GOD IS MY STRENGTH!

  Trish flopped back on the blanket, drained as if she’d run a marathon. On the wings of the gull, the sigh of the wind, the swish of the blowing sand, she heard her song. Trish sang the words to the chorus between huffs on the upward path. She sang it again while she wrapped the journals and the eagle carefully and put them back into the backpack. She hummed the tune on the drive up the winding road.

  “Take out paper. This is your last quiz for the quarter.” The instructor stood in front of the room with a smile on his face. Was this supposed to be good news?

  Trish muttered her verse as she opened her notebook. “God is my strength. God is my strength.” She threw in an “I will praise the Lord” as the teacher wrote the problems on the board.

  She took a deep breath and focused on the first question.

  “Just dissect each equation,” Richard’s voice floated in her mind. “And concentrate.”

  She could hear David repeating over and over. “Concentrate, Tee. Concentrate. Focus on what you’re doing. You can do this.” He might as well have been sitting right beside her.

  When she started to panic, Trish brought her mind back with her verses. After correcting the quiz, Trish felt like shouting. She’d only missed two. A record!

  The high stayed with her all the way home. She danced up the steps and through the door. Yes! She’d only missed two. Yes! She could do it!

  “You look like you’ve got good news.” Martha looked up from her needlepoint.

  “I only missed two problems on the last quiz of the quarter!” Trish’s feet tapped out a dance step.

  “Wonderful! Oh, there’s a letter here for you.” Martha pointed to the hall table. “From Kentucky.”

  Trish danced back to the entry. She picked up the envelope. Red’s handwriting sent a warm squiggle down to her middle. She slit open the envelope. The card showed a kitten hanging desperately from a branch with outstretched claws. Inside, the words “Hang in there” made Trish smile.

  Dear Trish,

  Thanks for your card. I am now sure you didn’t fall off the face of the earth. I hit the winner’s circle twice yesterday. Can you believe that? Of course, two days before that I got dumped on my butt. No injuries, unless you count the ones to my pride. I think of you every day. I wish California and Kentucky weren’t so far apart. Good thing prayers can cross mountains because I’m praying you are better and that I’ll see you again—soon.

  Love, Red

  To Trish, the soon leaped out in big letters. So do I, she thought. You’re like Rhonda; you make me laugh. She thanked Martha Finley for the mail and skipped up the stairs to her room.

  But all the next week, Trish felt at the mercy of the yo-yo kid. She’d be going along just fine, even remembering to give God the glory, and then something would trigger the sadness. It might be a word, the way someone walked, a repeat of a past event, and she’d fall down again. The pain would come crashing back, bringing tears and droopy spirits.

  She forced herself to keep her mind on the horse she was riding and the others around her, but when she was driving the car, her mind could freewheel.

  “I even cry in the shower.” She tried to joke about it to Martha when she went home for lunch on Monday.

  “I know. The tears catch you when you think everything is okay. When I lost my mother, doing dishes was hard for me. Me and the tap water, we’d flow together.”

  “Did they—the tears—ever go away?” Trish folded and creased her napkin with shaky fingers.

  “Not completely. Sometimes, all these years later, I think of something my mother and I could have done together and the tears come. But as time passed, the crying didn’t hurt as bad and didn’t last as long. And the bouts were much farther apart.”

  “People keep telling me time will make things easier, but…” Trish crumpled the napkin, then flattened it again.

  “The passage of time helps, but I believe God brings the real deep-down healing.”

  “Mom says I need to see a doctor because I want to sleep all the time. You know anyone?” Trish made a face. “I hate to go to a doctor, especially a new one. Maybe I could wait until I go home.”

  Martha pushed back from the oak and glass table. She fetched a card from the file by the phone. “Here. I think you’ll like her.”

  “Thanks, I guess.”

  “Something else…I tried to find two things I could be thankful for every day. Of course, that was after I got over being mad at God for taking my mother.”

  Trish felt her mouth drop open. “You were mad too?”

  “Everyone is. That’s part of grieving.”

  Trish traced the outline of the pink flowers on her plate with the tines of her fork. “I think—” She closed her eyes to concentrate. “I think that part, being so mad all the time, is getting better.”

  “I think so too.”

  The talk helped—for a day or two.

  Talking to the doctor helped too. When Trish told her all that had gone on, the woman said, “Of course you’re tired all the time. That’s one way the body tries to heal itself. You need to get extra rest and eat properly.”

  “But that’s when the nightmares come back.” Trish studied the knuckles on her right hand, then looked up at the doctor. “I see my dad as he was the—the last—” Tears swamped her words. “The last time I saw him. He…”

  The doctor let her patient cry, handing over tissues as needed. When Trish sat, calm and spent, the doctor asked. “How did he look?”

  “Like he was asleep, only I could tell he—he wasn’t there any-more.”

  “Did he look in pain?” Trish shook her head. “Was it awful to look at him?”

  Trish peered through her tears. “No, it wasn’t bad. I just wanted him to come back so bad…I want my father back.”

  “I know, Trish. But death doesn’t have to be a nightmare. You know he would have stayed with you if he could, but his body couldn’t handle any more.”

  Trish studied the doctor’s kind face. “I know, but I still miss him so.”

  “Yes, and that
will always be. But nightmares scare us because we see things we don’t understand. Death is a natural part of living.”

  “But aren’t you supposed to die when you’re old?”

  “Usually, but life isn’t always as we think it should be, and death often comes before we’re ready for it. I could recommend a group for you if you’d like. There’s a counselor and other young people like you, who’ve lost a parent or someone close to them.”

  Trish shook her head. “I won’t be here that long.”

  “Okay. How about if I write a name and phone number on this pad and you call them if you want to? In the meantime, let’s give you a once over, even though I’m almost certain there’s nothing wrong with your body.”

  “Yeah, it’s all in my head.” Trish blew her nose again.

  “And your heart. It takes a while for a broken heart to heal.”

  “I’ll call you if anything shows up in the blood work,” the doctor said after the tests were finished. “In the meantime, rest when you can, eat right, and think about calling that group.”

  “Thanks.” Trish left the office feeling lighter again.

  That night on the phone, when she told her mother about the doctor’s suggestion, Marge said, “Groups like that do help. I go to one every Thursday.”

  “You do?”

  Trish fell asleep that night after reading her Bible and slept through the night.

  After works the next morning, Trish and Adam sat in the office munching their favorite breakfast, bagels and cream cheese.

  “Hey, I like this one.” Trish held up her bagel, spread with walnut-raisin-cinnamon cream cheese. “What other kind did you get?”

  Adam picked up the container and read the label. “Spinach/garlic. You’ll know you’re an adult when you like this one.”

  “Hah! Carlos, which do you like best?”

  “All of them. You riding this afternoon?”

  Trish nodded. “Two mounts. I’m coming up in the world.” She licked the cheese from her fingers. “I’ve been meaning to ask you guys…Mom and Patrick said we should keep our eyes open for a good claimer.”

  “How much do they want to go?” Adam crossed his feet on his desk.

  “I don’t know. But if I buy part of it, I’d rather have a filly.”

  “Is Patrick going to train for anyone else?”

  “I think so. At least for the owners we had before. With David going off to school, we’ll have to hire help.”

  “There’s a gelding running on Saturday that might be one to look at.” Carlos leaned against the doorframe. “I’d buy him myself if I had the money. Just coming back from a quarter crack in the off-rear hoof. Hasn’t been handled right either, far as I can tell.”

  Trish shrugged. “So much for my idea of a filly. How much is the claim?”

  “Thirteen thousand. I’ll find out when he’s working tomorrow.”

  “Okay. I’ll call Mom tonight. We can look at his papers today, can’t we?”

  At their nods, Trish stood up. “I better get going. I’ll come by after the fourth.”

  Mounted in the saddling paddock a couple of hours later, Trish felt the stirrings of excitement. Her butterflies must have sensed it too, for they started their pre-race warm-ups. Trish listened carefully to the trainer’s instructions. Her butterflies proceeded to aerial flits and flutters.

  The gelding she rode trotted docilely beside the pony rider. The trainer had said this old boy needed waking up. Trish tightened the reins and squeezed her heels into his sides. The gelding pricked his ears and danced sideways.

  Trish kept tuning him up, right into the starting gates. When the gun went off, so did the gelding. He lit out for the turn as if there were tin cans on his tail. She let him run, pacing the horses on either side. They were three across coming out of the turn. The gelding ran easily, and with two furlongs to go Trish made her move.

  One swing of her whip and he stretched out. Another and he took the lead. “Go for it, you wonderful beast!” Trish urged him on, the finish pole thundering closer. A nose crept up on her right side. Even with her boot, the shoulder, the neck.

  She went to the whip and the two dueled the final strides. But it was number three to win by a nose, giving her a place.

  Trish vaulted to the ground. The black clouds took up their positions on her shoulders—again.

  “Good race, young lady. He ran better for you than he has for anyone. When I told you to wake him up, you did a fine job.”

  “Thank you. Sorry it wasn’t the win.” The simple words didn’t begin to communicate Trish’s feeling of regret. He should have won.

  The black cloud hung close when Trish mounted again. The filly, entered in her first race, exhibited little to no confidence as she tentatively did what Trish asked. She tiptoed into the starting gate. The gun and the gate startled her so she broke off-balanced. It took till half the backstretch for her to gain her stride.

  “Come on, baby,” Trish crooned instead of yelling. The filly opened up and headed for the pack surging in front of her. She swung wide to pass the clustered horses and, coming out of the turn, seemed to realize what she was supposed to do. But too many seconds were wasted in learning and she tied for fourth.

  Trish bit her lip to be polite to the trainer. He congratulated her for the fine riding job. If you’d finished training that horse, she might have won. Trish roped the words before they left her mouth and corralled them in her mind.

  And you should have ridden her this morning so you’d have known how to handle her, the nagger added to the shouting match already going on.

  “Yeah, I know.” Trish slapped her whip against her boots. If only she could go to the beach, but it was too late in the day. She had lab tonight and somehow had to find time to make up a couple of labs that she’d missed.

  Or, messed up on, the voice reminded her.

  On the way to inspect the gelding, Adam and Carlos took one look at her face and refrained from commenting—on the races, the weather, or even the horse.

  “I don’t really like him,” Trish muttered as they walked back to the barn.

  “I’m not surprised,” Adam answered.

  Trish ignored his tone. To question him would be too much trouble. Right now, anything was too much trouble. It took all her energy to drive to the college.

  At least she didn’t burn the place down. But driving home, she could barely keep her eyes open.

  You said you’d give God the glory, the voice in her head gloated.

  “Oh, shut up!” She fell across her bed exhausted.

  Chapter

  09

  Rhonda, over here!”

  “Trish, I made it, I really made it!” Rhonda, her crop of carrot-colored hair flying as she zigzagged between the crowd, waved her hand, and jumped to see over the shoulder of a woman in front of her. “Excuse me.…excuse me.” Finally, she dropped her bag and collapsed into Trish’s arms.

  A woman in a tailored business suit glared at them both. “Teenagers…” she muttered as she passed them.

  The two girls looked at each other, at the woman’s broad-shouldered back, and burst out laughing.

  The giggles overwhelmed them again as they held each other at arm’s length. They sank into two chairs until they could catch their breath.

  “Welcome to California!” Trish tried to adopt a straight face—and failed.

  “So how much can we cram into three days?” Rhonda picked up her bag and pulled Trish to her feet.

  “I thought we’d go to the beach today. I have two mounts tomorrow—Gatesby is one—and then I took Sunday off. We can shop or sightsee or…”

  “Yes!”

  “Yes what?”

  “All of the above!” Rhonda dropped her bag again and whirled Trish around in a circle. “I want a drop-dead outfit for the first day of school. Something so different, no one at home will have anything like it. Just think, we’re seniors this year!”

  “Excuse us…” An elderly couple waited for the
girls to stop blocking the aisle.

  “We’re going shop-ping!” Rhonda flung an irresistible grin at them.

  “Have fun, dear.” The white-haired woman smiled back.

  “We will!”

  Rhonda talked nonstop all the way to Half Moon Bay and out to Redondo Beach. “Wow, this is super!” She raised up in the seat to look over the windshield. The beach curved from the space-station-looking government buildings on the north to the Strawberry Ranch promontory on the south. White frosted breakers curled onto the golden sand, rolling in from the blue-green ocean.

  “No surfers. I thought California beaches had surfers.”

  “There are some at the jetty; that’s a couple of miles up the road. We can go there if you’d rather.”

  “How about later?”

  “Sure.”

  “So this is where you come all the time.” Rhonda sat back down and opened the car door.

  “Yep.” Trish got out and went around to open the trunk. “I brought the blanket and cooler. There’s no place to change if you want to put your suit on. The water’s so cold here I don’t really swim, so shorts are usually fine.”

  “Okay.” Rhonda stuffed her bag into the trunk. “I’m ready.”

  They slid and slithered their way to the warm, dry sand, then trudged south to Trish’s favorite place. Even her gull hovered nearby, circling and dipping in the hopes the girls had treats. Together they spread the blanket and plopped down.

  “No wonder you like it here.” Rhonda lay spread-eagle on the blanket. “There’s hardly anyone else around.”

  “More today than usual.” Trish nodded at a woman with three school-age boys playing in the waves with their black lab. A couple shared a blanket, absorbing the rays. “You want a pop?” At Rhonda’s nod, Trish opened the cooler and pulled out two Diet Cokes.

  As they popped the tops and poured the cold liquid down their throats, they both sighed.

  “So, how are things really going?” Rhonda brushed her hair back from her face with one hand and tilted her pop can with the other.

  “Up and down. I think I’m a yo-yo sometimes and don’t know who is jerking the string.”