Golden Filly Collection Two

by Lauraine Snelling

  “It’s still at the dealer. I told him I’d get back to him. I guess I will—sometime.

  “Have you decided what you’re going to do with it?”

  “Just sell it, I guess.”

  “Mmmm. I liked your original idea of giving it to the youth group at church.”

  Trish blew out the breath she’d been holding. “Hardly.”

  Rhonda held up her hands. “Just a thought.”

  After she waved good-bye and Rhonda walked down the ramp to the plane, Trish felt like the pit was engulfing her again. She went through the motions of completing a makeup lab before class and listening to the instructor cover as much material as possible before the final. She couldn’t decide which was worse, the dry burning behind her eyes or when they ran with tears. Either way, she ended up with a headache.

  Back in her bedroom, she paced the floor, fighting to keep awake. If only she could crawl into bed and sleep, sleep away the pain, the confusion.

  She forced her eyes back to the notes she’d made in class. The words turned into squiggles that danced on the page. Her gaze fell on her purse.

  Richard had said the pills would help her think better. They’d give her some energy. Better than caffeine, he’d said. Just one pill; what could be wrong with taking one simple little pill? People took them all the time.

  Trish picked up her purse. She dug around. Panic dried her mouth. Where were they? Finally she felt them, down at the very bottom, a baggie with the three little white pills.

  She strode into the bathroom and ran a glassful of water. She put a pill on her tongue and stared at the face in the mirror.

  Chapter

  10

  There was no one to bump her this time.…She raised the glass to her lips and filled her mouth with water.…No one to tell her no.

  Trish gagged and leaned over the toilet. She spit out the pill and water and gagged again.

  The black pit grew before her eyes. She ran back into the bedroom and grabbed the remaining pills. The face she glimpsed in the mirror looked like it had seen a ghost. She flung the remaining pills into the toilet and flushed it.

  Trish staggered back into the bedroom and sank down on the edge of the bed. Oh, to lay her head down on the pillow and forget this had ever happened. She clamped her hands to her head and rocked back and forth.

  God, what do I do? Help me! The cry swirled down into the blackness engulfing her.

  And He will raise you up…

  She gulped for air.

  …on eagle’s wings

  Where was it coming from? I will praise the Lord. I WILL praise the Lord. God is my strength, my very present help in times of trouble. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. The verses scrolled through her mind. She could see the wall above her desk at home as if she were standing right in front of it. The wall with cards written by both her and her father. The wall of Bible verses she had memorized. For God so loved the world, loved Trish…

  She grabbed the box of tissues and ripped out a handful. The tears flowed. The verses sang. Her heart settled back in her chest and resumed its steady beat. She mopped her eyes again and again. Let not your heart be troubled… That one sure fit.

  A troubled heart. She sniffed and mopped.

  When the tears finally dried up, she went into the bathroom and soaked a washcloth in cold water. She could almost hear it sizzle as she buried her face in it. “Thank you. Thank you.” She let her shoulders droop and her head fall forward. She inhaled, a breath that went clear to her toenails. And when she released it, she felt her body relax. Another breath seemed to inhale the peace she could feel seeping into the room.

  Peace floated around the room like tendrils of golden-hued clouds, kissed by the rising sun.

  Trish propped her back against the headboard of the bed and her chemistry book on her lap. “Please, Father, help me read and understand what I am studying. Help me to stay awake and think clearly. I can’t do this on my own. I can’t seem to do much of anything right—on my own. Thank you for helping me.”

  Three hours of sleep wasn’t enough. Trish tried rubbing the grit from her eyes but resorted to a wet washcloth instead. If only she had time for a shower—a cold one.

  Remnants of the nightmare tugged at her memory. Had it been as bad as usual? She wasn’t sure. If only she could wake up enough to change it like the doctor had suggested. But the end would always be the same. Her father was gone.

  Dawn cracked the sky over the eastern hills as she mounted her third horse for Adam.

  “Better now?” Adam patted her knee after boosting her aboard.

  Trish nodded. The man could read her like a book. Did she wear her thoughts on her face like an open page, or was he just a good reader?

  He walked beside her out to the track. “Trot her once around, then breeze her for four furlongs. I’ll be clocking you, so let her go at the half-mile pole.”

  “Okay.” Trish nudged the mare into a slow trot. The horse, long used to the routine, trotted around the outside of the track. But when Trish turned her and eased toward the rail, she perked up.

  Trish could feel her mount pulling at the bit. She snapped her goggles over her eyes. She let the mare extend to an even gallop and, at the pole, let her out. The mare hit her running pace in three strides. With Trish encouraging her, the old girl flattened out, reaching for top speed. The finish pole flashed by and Trish rose in her stirrups to bring the mare back down to a gallop.

  Trish and her mount hugged the rail to pass a horse galloping in front of them. Just as they pulled even, the other horse stumbled and started falling.

  The mare swerved to miss the falling horse but kept to her feet, thanks to Trish’s firm hands and the rail they grazed on the left. Trish’s ankle took the brunt of the force.

  She pulled the mare to a walk and glanced back to check on the other horse. He was limping off the track. The jockey shrugged an apology.

  Trish rubbed her ankle through her boot. What a stupid thing to have happen. When would she learn to pay better attention? She checked the mare’s shoulder. Part of her hide was burned bare. But she wasn’t limping, seemed no worse for the near miss.

  “You’re okay?” Adam asked when he met her at the exit.

  “Yeah, but…”

  “I don’t want to hear it.” He raised his hands. “You did a good job in a tight situation and everyone came out all right.”

  “But…”

  “Trish, you can’t take responsibility for the whole world. Accidents happen; that’s life.” He examined the graze on the mare’s shoulder.

  “I feel like I’m an accident waiting to happen.”

  Adam glared up at her. He shook his head and strode off to the barns.

  At the barns he said, “You might want to thank God you weren’t hurt. I do.” He boosted her up on Gatesby. “Give him a couple of laps nice and easy.”

  Trish finished her morning rides without much feeling. She felt guilty that Adam had to scold her like he did. She dragged her feet into the office and sat down on the edge of her chair. “Adam…” She had to clear her throat. “I—I’m sorry. I just want to be the best, or even good again, and everything seems to go against that.” She looked up to see him nodding at her. “I’m up when everything’s okay and down when it isn’t.”

  “I’ve noticed. But you’ve got to take it as it comes and just do the best you can.”

  “My father kept on praising the Lord all through his cancer. I want to do that too, but it doesn’t come easy for me.”

  “Your dad was a lot older than you, Trish. Learning to thank God for everything takes time and practice. It’s a lot like a mother teaching her child to say thank-you. She has to remind him over and over—and over. God isn’t going to smack you because you forget sometimes. He loves you too much.”

  “I smack myself often enough.”

  “And is it doing any good?”

  Trish shrugged. “Maybe one of these days I’ll remember.”

&nbs
p; “And in the meantime, you feel terrible.”

  Trish leaned back in her chair. “How come you got so smart?”

  “See this white hair?” Adam pointed to the fringe around his balding head. “I earned every one of them—mostly the hard way.”

  That night when Trish returned from class, in which she’d stayed alert for a change, Martha told her that David had called.

  “Thanks.” Trish ran up the stairs and dumped her stuff on the floor by the bed. She dialed the number, then pulled off her boots while it rang.

  Marge answered. “Good evening, Runnin’ On Farm.”

  “Hi, Mom, it’s me.”

  “Hi, Tee. We’re getting him all packed.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “David’s leaving for Tucson tomorrow so he has time to stop and see you. Martha said they had plenty of room for him there. You’ll see him some time late in the day.”

  “Whew, you guys don’t waste any time, do you?”

  “Not much.” There was an awkward silence.

  “Mom, are you okay?”

  Trish heard a faint sniff. “I will be. It’s just that this house will be awfully empty till you come home.”

  “Why don’t you come with him?” Trish lay back on her pillows.

  “I wish I could, but I’ve still too much to do with all the paper work and stuff. I’m not even sure I can make it down to watch you race.”

  “M-o-m!”

  “I know. But even though your father had his will in order and a lot of other stuff, there’s still too much to do.”

  Trish gripped the phone till her knuckles whitened. “You have to come, Mom. I’m counting on you to help me win.”

  “No, Trish. You count on God and yourself for that, not me. Is there anything you want David to bring?”

  “Just you.”

  “Rhonda came over and showed me what you bought. Her new outfit is beautiful.”

  “Isn’t it? I have one too. Oh, I almost forgot, we’ve started the paper work on the claimer. He looks good. I wanted a filly but Carlos found this gelding. He said he’d buy it himself if he had the money.”

  “Good. The mare and filly come tomorrow. Sure will be busy when you’re all home again.”

  “Well, I gotta get to sleep. See you in a couple of days.”

  “Trish.…Good night, Tee.”

  So David would arrive tomorrow. Would he want to go sightseeing too? Trish brought out her journal, propped herself up against the headboard, and began writing. She managed only two sentences before her eyes closed. The book thumping to the floor woke her enough to turn out the light and set the alarm.

  “Okay, just walk her around the short track nice and easy. The swelling is gone, and if it stays down she should be okay for Sunday.” Adam stroked Firefly’s shoulder after boosting Trish into the saddle. “We’ll need to clock her day after tomorrow, so we’re cutting it pretty close.”

  “I’d rather scratch her than take a chance on a long-term injury.” Trish smoothed a stubborn strand of the filly’s mane to the right side.

  “I agree, but this is the last good race for her this season and I hate to miss it unless we’re forced to.” He stepped back. “Have a good one.”

  Trish brought Diego’s horse in for a show that afternoon. The horse that won ran all the others right into the ground and then left them lengths behind. Even Trish couldn’t fault herself for not winning that one.

  “You have nothing to say?” Adam cocked one eyebrow at her.

  “Yeah, you think they want to sell that horse?” Trish looked over at the winner’s circle, where the colt, jockey, and entourage posed for pictures. “He was moving.”

  Trish lost the next one. Ended up next to last. The horse broke badly, swung wide on the turns, and ran out of steam down the stretch.

  “I rode better than that as an apprentice,” she muttered, following the other jockeys back to the jockey room.

  She gathered up her gear and headed around the track to the barn. Maybe David would get here before she had to leave for school. But probably not. She checked her watch. She needed to go early to finish making up two more labs. At least on Friday all she had was a lab. Richard had canceled their last tutoring session. Maybe she could get David to coach her.

  When she got in her car, her gaze automatically fell on the Post-it Note on her dashboard. She’d written it as a reminder. Big letters. PTL. Praise the Lord. Sure, praise the Lord for losing a race. How about for riding a dud of a horse? It would be easy to praise the Lord if she owned the horse who won the first race.

  She could thank Him that no one got hurt today. And that David was coming. There, those were her two things for the day. “And please help me finish these experiments fast. And right.”

  The wind felt wonderful in her hair and even the traffic moved smoothly as she drove to school.

  When she got home that night, David sat in the living room visiting with the Finleys.

  “You made it okay.” Trish crossed the room to give her brother a hug. Strange, they never used to hug, but now it seemed natural—and necessary.

  “That’s a long drive.” David rubbed the small of his back with doubled fists.

  “That’s why I like flying.”

  “There’s iced tea in the fridge if you want,” Martha said.

  When Trish returned from the kitchen, she smacked her lips. “This is really good. You did something new.”

  “Added a bag of mint tea to the regular sun tea.”

  “I like it.”

  “What’s sun tea?” David asked. He took another swallow from his sweating glass.

  “You put the tea bags in cold water in a jug and set it out in the sun for the day.”

  “One of the good things about California sun.” Trish chose to sit on the floor between David and the Finleys. “But the oranges alone are worth living here.”

  “There are some of those on the kitchen table, if you like.” Martha turned to David. “Trish found out that oranges that never saw the light of a cooler are a whole different fruit.”

  “Like, are they ever. ’Course you’ll have them in Arizona too.” She took another swallow of tea. “Still, I wish you weren’t going.”

  “You want me around to do your chemistry.” He patted her on the head.

  “You want to? I just happen to have some here.” Trish leaned forward like she was going to get it right then.

  “No, no, baby sister, you do your own homework.”

  “Rats.” Trish finished her tea and checked the grandfather clock on the far wall. “Speaking of which, I need to go do some and hit the sack. We working people have to get up early.”

  “Call me when you get up. I’ll be ready when you are.” David leaned back on the sofa. He covered a yawn with his hand. “If you think driving down here in one day isn’t work, you’re crazier than I thought.”

  “Thank you.” Trish smiled at the Finleys and rolled her eyes.

  They both smiled at her antics. “‘Night, Trish.”

  Having David at the barns in the morning felt like old home week. When he boosted her into the saddle on Gatesby, he stood by her knee, smiling up at her.

  Trish caught the flick of Gatesby’s ears. Before she could do any more than open her mouth, the gelding clamped a bit of David’s shirt in his teeth and yanked.

  “Ouch.” Gatesby obviously got more than cloth. “You idiot horse.” David rubbed his upper arm. “Why we keep you around…” He glared up at Trish, who had collapsed on Gatesby’s neck with laughter.

  “You should s-s-see your f-face.” She broke up again.

  Adam and Carlos tried for all their worth to keep straight faces, but Trish’s laughter tickled them into joining. Trish tried to straighten up, but when she looked over their heads, Juan was leaning against the barn, his shoulders shaking, his hands clasped over his mouth.

  “Go ahead. All of you. Laugh it up.” David clamped a hand on the reins right under Gatesby’s chin and raised the other hand
as if to strike. Gatesby lifted his head away and rolled his eyes. He knew how to play the game.

  “It’s so good to be the butt of the joke my first morning.…”

  “The bite.” Trish cracked up again at her own cleverness.

  “Huh?”

  “Not the butt, the bite of the joke.” She spoke slowly as though he didn’t understand the language.

  David made as if to grab her, but when he dropped the reins, Gatesby reached around and David grabbed the reins again.

  “Hah, think I’ll go work off some of his energy. When we get back, maybe David’ll be in a better mood,” Trish said for Gatesby’s benefit.

  “Give her a real ride, you old nag,” David muttered to the horse. Gatesby tossed his head as much as the hand on his reins would allow.

  Trish heard herself humming as they trotted out on the track. That had been fun. She stroked Gatesby’s neck and patted his shoulder. “We should put you in a circus act,” she told him. “Gatesby, the fastest-running clown on earth.” Her horse jigged sideways. He seemed to enjoy the fun as much as she did.

  But the fun in the morning had no bearing on the racing in the afternoon. Trish had two mounts and neither one of them made it into the money. The first one quit running in the stretch and no amount of the whip made any difference.

  Trish hated to use her whip at all, let alone enough to get the horse to try harder. He just didn’t have it in him.

  The second one, in the third, kept pulling away from any horse that came up on his right side. And since they had the rail, that meant every horse in the field. “You might want to put blinkers on him,” she mentioned to the trainer after dismounting. “Is he that shy all the time?”

  “Nah, only since he took a bad bump. You’re probably right.” The trainer led the horse away.

  Trish couldn’t believe she’d offered her opinion. Only disgust had made her do it. She tried not to yell at herself, but discouragement won out. By the time she got back to the barn, she was down again.