Golden Filly Collection Two

by Lauraine Snelling

  “You’re awfully quiet.” Marge put down her magazine and turned to look at her daughter.

  “Just thinking. I’m going to be really busy, aren’t I?”

  Marge smiled and nodded. “Seems that way to me.”

  Trish rubbed the bridge of her nose, unconsciously mimicking David’s action when he was thinking. “You thought any more about Portland Meadows?”

  “Sort of. I figured we’d get this weekend out of the way first and then tackle the next item on the agenda.” Marge accepted a glass of soda from the flight attendant and passed Trish her standard Diet Coke. “It’s like I keep hoping the situation will resolve itself if I look the other way.” She shook her head. “But that is rarely the case.”

  “We had a super weekend, though.” Trish sipped her drink. “I’m really glad you came along.”

  “Thanks.” Marge patted Trish’s cocked knee. “Back to Portland Meadows. I’d just as soon you didn’t get involved in the situation there, whatever the situation is.”

  “Are you telling me I can’t talk to the other owners?” Trish felt a niggle of resentment settle around her chest.

  “No, I’m giving you my opinion. I’d like you to have a sane and normal senior year with time to take part in all the activities.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Trish sipped her drink again. That had been close. She knew she’d want to make sure something was done about racing at PM. At least they weren’t going to start out fighting about something so important as that. The thought of other jockeys riding their horses bothered her more than she wanted to admit. That was her job. But she sure couldn’t do it if all the horses were based in California.

  Dad, what would you do in this situation? Trish closed her eyes and leaned her seat back. If she sat real quiet, she could almost feel him sitting right beside her. He’d be reading the latest Blood Horse Journal or one of his “good books,” as he called authors like Norman Vincent Peale.

  He always said you could find your answers in the Scriptures if you looked hard enough. Trish rubbed her tongue on the back of her teeth. Where would she find a reference for horse racing?

  Immediately a verse leaped into her mind. “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” The golden rule. She wrinkled her eyebrows. What did that have to do with racing?

  Their meal arrived and Trish poured dressing on her salad in an unconscious gesture. “Do unto others.” It seemed as if they were being done unto and not in a good way. She ate her meal, all the while mulling over the verse. Another came into her mind. This one she could picture on her wall of three-by-five cards, all verses printed either by her or her father. “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” Now that one made more sense.

  After giving her empty tray to the flight attendant, Trish flipped back the armrest and curled up in the double seat for a nap. She was just about out when she felt her mother spread one of the airline blankets over her. “Thanks, Mom,” Trish mumbled.

  When Trish and her mother walked off the plane, Patrick waited there to meet them. Trish nearly walked on by because the retired jockey stood behind a man tall enough to play professional basketball.

  “You’re going to have to stand in front of guys like that,” Trish teased after they swapped hugs and started down the long walk to the baggage claim. “Or you’ll get lost.”

  Patrick gave her a poke with his elbow. “And let’s be lookin’ at who’s talking. He’d be taller’n you and Spitfire put together. Speaking of which, how’s our son doin’?”

  “Great.” Trish turned with a grin. “And yes, you were right.”

  “And what might that be about?”

  “He didn’t forget me.”

  “I told you, that horse has a memory like an elephant. And he’ll never be forgettin’ ye. Yer the most important person in his life.”

  “I still wish we could race him again.” Trish sighed.

  “Give it up, lass. We’ll bring on a young’un to do it again.” Patrick stood back to let Trish and Marge onto the escalator in front of him.

  “What’s happening at The Meadows?” Marge asked in an undertone because Trish stood three steps down in front of her.

  “The Thoroughbred Association has called a meeting for Tuesday night. The city council is supposed to make a decision at their meeting on Thursday.” Patrick tried to speak softly enough for Trish to miss it.

  “But that’s tomorrow night.” Trish stepped to the side at the bottom of the escalator.

  “I know.” Marge and Patrick exchanged a look that told Trish they’d rather not discuss this now.

  Fine, Trish thought. I can play that game too. But tomorrow night Run nin’ On Farm will be well represented at the meeting. “They’ve started our luggage carousel” was all she said as she walked through the turnstile to stand by the moving luggage line.

  On the way home, the three caught up on all the news of Runnin’ On Farm. The new mare and filly they’d purchased from the breeder in Chehalis were settling in well. Miss Tee and Double Diamond had grown an inch a night, or so it seemed.

  “We’ll be working with the yearling Calloway’s Joker soon as you get out to the barn. I’m too heavy for him and a’course Brad makes me look like a midget.”

  “Brad’s already started school?” Trish leaned between the two front seats of the minivan.

  “Nope. Later than you. But he’s sure been a help these last couple of weeks. That boy’s awful good with horses.”

  “He should be. Brad Williams nearly grew up at our place. He and David…” Marge shook her head. “And Trish and Rhonda. What those four couldn’t think of.”

  “Come on, Mom, we weren’t that bad.”

  “You won’t believe the mountains of cookies I used to bake. Hal teased me about becoming a professional baker.”

  “You still could. Like Brad said, you make the best cinnamon rolls around.” Trish leaned her elbows on her knees and her chin on the palms of her hands. “You think David likes the cooking at the dorm?”

  “I doubt it. All college students complain about the food. There’s a rule somewhere that says they have to.” Marge turned in her seat. “We’ll call him when we get home and let him know we got through the weekend all right.”

  Dusk colored the farm amethyst and faded the edges as they turned into the long, graveled driveway. The farm and family collie, Caesar, leaped and yipped beside the slow-moving van, doing his best to welcome them home.

  The cedar-sided house lay to the right. Flower skirts of red and gold and pink flaunted their bursts of blooms before fall dimmed their glory. One last ray of golden sun reflected off the picture window, brassy and brilliant in the dusk.

  Off to the left and down a bit lay the barns with the horse paddocks out behind. Patrick’s mobile home, surrounded by another flower display, nestled against the rise as if it had lived there forever.

  Trish felt a lump in her throat. Was coming home always the best part of a trip? It felt like she’d been gone for months, years maybe, instead of weeks.

  Her father would be down at the paddocks, checking on the horses for the final time of the day. She sighed and blinked against the moisture that stung her eyelids. If only that were true. How much she had to tell him. She rolled her lips together and pulled open the sliding door. But now she had to keep on keeping on. He wasn’t here and he wouldn’t be.

  Caesar planted both his front feet on her knee before she could slide out. The fastest tongue in the West caught her chin and the tip of her nose before she dug her fingers into his blazing white ruff and let him lick away the tears too. “You silly old dog.” Trish shook her hands and Caesar grinned his doggie grin. “You missed me, huh?” Caesar dropped to all fours, yipped and ran around in a circle, scrabbling dirt into the air.

  “I think he’s glad to see you.” Marge retrieved her purse from the van and chuckled at the dog’s antics. “If you hurry, you can check on the horses before absolute dark.”

  Trish waved at her mom and t
rotted down the rise, her three-tone whistle calling both the dog and the horses. A whinny answered her and then another. Caesar ran in front of her, turned to bark, then dashed off again.

  Trish dropped to a walk when she rounded the long, low stable and started down the lane between the board-fenced paddocks. Another whinny floated up to her on the evening breeze. Old, gray Dan’l, their now-retired-from-racing Thoroughbred and her riding teacher, was welcoming her home. The second whinny had the young sound of Miss Tee or Double Diamond. Who had whistled like she did so they recognized it?

  Ahead in the dimness, she could faintly see a gray horse standing with his head over the fence. He whinnied again. Trish ran down the lane, stopping just in time to walk up to the aging animal. “Hello, old man. How ya doin’?” Dan’l whuffled, his nostrils fluttering in a soundless nicker. He sniffed her hand, her arm, and up to her cheek, then nosed at her pocket where she usually kept the carrots.

  “None today, fella. I haven’t even been in the house yet.” She rubbed his ears and down his cheek. “You’re lookin’ good for such an old son.” Dan’l nodded and blew in her face. He licked her cheek and hung his head low so she could rub the crest of his mane and between his ears. When he sighed, it was as if she’d never been away. Trish patted him again, then worked her way down the row of horse heads bobbing at the fence line.

  Miss Tee and Double Diamond stood back a ways and reached out to sniff her proffered hand. The new filly hung back even further. “Scaredy cats,” Trish murmured, all the while keeping her hand palm down so they could sniff comfortably. “You’ll have to learn to trust me again, you know. Mom’s spoiled you, I bet.”

  Caesar shoved his nose into her hand and whined. The peeper frogs sang their nightly three-part chorus down by the swamp. Up above, three stars ran interference for the heavenly host to come as the sky deepened from cobalt to black.

  Trish gave Dan’l an extra hug and strode back up the lane. Time to call Rhonda and plan their big entrance in the morning. And time to read the clippings Patrick had been saving about the mess at Portland Meadows.

  “Patrick carried your luggage to your room,” Marge said when Trish opened the sliding glass door from the deck behind the house. “We’re going to have coffee in about five minutes if you want to join us.”

  “Okay. How about if I call Rhonda first?”

  “You think you can talk for only five minutes?”

  “Prob’ly not. But I can always call her back.” Trish glanced into the living room at her father’s recliner. So often he’d sat there reading his Bible or resting after he got so sick. A circle of light from the lamp beside it fell on the worn cushions. Even his patchwork quilt lay folded across the back. His worn black Bible occupied its usual place on the end table.

  Trish walked quickly down the hall. She would not cry.

  Her room wore the look of perfection only possible when she lived elsewhere. No jeans, sweat shirts, boots, or even tissues out of place. Everything dusted, the crimson and gold throw pillow not thrown but centered against the other pillows. She raised her gaze to the blank wall above her desk. The first thing she’d do when she got back from California on Sunday would be to pin all the cards with Bible verses back in place. Her mother had saved them from the trash.

  Trish ignored the yawn that attacked her from the sight of the pillows and marched back down the hall to the kitchen. She might still be on Kentucky time, but now she had to function on Washington time, and here it was only eight o’clock. Time to call Rhonda. And later, Brad.

  “Hi, Rhonda, it’s me.” Trish sank to the floor and propped her back against the corner of the door and the kitchen cabinets. “So, how’s everything for the morning?” After telling Rhonda as much as possible about the Kentucky trip, Trish waved a hand at her mother. “I gotta go. Mom’s dishing up peach pie and ice cream. You and Brad should be here. So I’ll pick you up about twenty to eight, okay?” Trish hung up the phone and pushed herself to her feet. “Rhonda said to tell you hi and she’s glad we’re home.”

  “Here, you take the tray. We’re going to eat in the living room for a change.” Marge picked up the coffee carafe and followed Trish into the living room.

  Patrick sat in the corner of the sofa, reading Blood Horse in the lamplight. He put the magazine down and smiled up at Trish. “Sure and it’s good to have ye home, lass.” He took the plate of dessert and set it down on the end table. “It’s been lonely here, even though Brad came to help me. I got real spoiled having a family around all the time.”

  Marge handed him a coffee mug. “You need to be spoiled after all those years alone. Besides, you’re making it easier for Trish and me too. This house seems mighty big for two women.”

  “Maybe we could bring Caesar in?” Trish grinned around the spoon she licked.

  “And maybe not.” Marge shook her head. “Some people will try anything. Finish your dessert, child. It’s time for you to be in bed since you have school tomorrow.”

  Trish licked her ice cream from the spoon again. “You haven’t gotten to say something like that for a long time.” She turned to Patrick. “Used to be her famous last words every night.” Trish caught herself in a big yawn. “And tonight you’re right. Patrick, Mom said you’d been keeping the articles on The Meadows.”

  “Aye. But they’re down at my house. I’ll bring them up tomorrow. We’ll work horses and I’ll catch you up on the training we’re doing after school.”

  “Good.” Trish stretched and yawned again. “Night.” She swallowed another yawn and, after kissing her mother good-night, ambled down the hall to her room.

  While her bags needed unpacking, her mother had been kind enough to hang up the garment bag containing the new outfit for school. Trish unzipped the bag and drew out the hangers holding her new skirt, vest, and rust-colored silk blouse. The silver-toed western boots that finished off the outfit nestled in their wrapping in the stuffed bag on the floor. She hung the outfit on the door to let it shake out and undressed for bed.

  After she crawled under the covers she heard Patrick leave and her mother’s steps coming down the hall. Marge tapped on the half-open door and leaned her head in.

  “You sleeping yet?”

  “Nope.” Trish patted the side of the bed. “Here.”

  Marge sat as invited and drew one knee up on the bed. She studied her daughter, a half smile playing across her face. “You have no idea how wonderful it is to see you here in your own bed again.”

  Trish wriggled and smiled back. “Maybe not, but I know how good it feels.”

  “There’s a song, goes…something…something, you and me against the world.” Marge sang a snatch of the tune. “That’s kind of the way I feel right now.” She clasped her hands around her knee and rocked back on her spine. “But let me tell you, I’m not ready for the empty-nest syndrome. Half a nest is better than no nest at all.”

  Trish turned on her side and reached out with one hand to stroke her mother’s hands. “So I’m half a nest, am I?”

  “We’ve got a lot ahead of us, Tee.” Marge’s voice wavered.

  “Sometimes it scares me. I mean, like this is my last year in high school. And I want to do so many things in the racing world too. How am I gonna do it all?”

  “Well, one thing I’ve been learning is that I have to make choices. So I pray and ask God to help me make the right choices. Then I do what seems best. Remember what your father always said: ‘The right choice always follows God’s principles, and then you pray for God to close the doors He doesn’t want you to go through.’” She paused and wiped away a tear that trickled down her cheek. “It helps to talk about him, you know.”

  “I think I finally can.” Trish sniffed and reached for a tissue. “I still feel like a yo-yo sometimes. And I never know when it will happen.”

  “Me too. But thank God we’ve got each other.” Marge leaned forward and kissed Trish on the cheek. “Good night, Tee. You and Rhonda will knock ’em dead tomorrow.”

  Aft
er saying her prayers with lots of things to be thankful for, Trish snuggled down under the covers. What a day this had been!

  The alarm rang after Trish had already headed for the bathroom. The beep, beep, beep met her when she returned. She thumped it off and dressed quickly. When she stood in front of the full-length mirror, she couldn’t keep from smiling. Who was that person?

  Marge walked up behind her. “Wow. You’re all grown up. Trish, you look beautiful.” She stroked the waves of glossy, midnight hair that swung just past Trish’s shoulders. “I haven’t seen you with your hair down for so long; I forgot how rich it is.” She touched the dangly turquoise-and-bead earrings. “The whole outfit fits together so perfectly.” She gave Trish a quick hug. “Breakfast’s ready. I had cinnamon rolls in the freezer, so you get the royal send-off.”

  “What, no bagels?” Trish slipped an arm through her mother’s. “Lead me to ’em.”

  A few minutes later Trish stepped out into the sunshine. “You sure you don’t need your car today?”

  “Nope. I’m home to stay. I’ll drive you if I need it any other day this week or use the pickup.” Marge stood in the door and waved. “Of course, you could take the bus.”

  Trish flipped a grin and a wave over her shoulder. She was spoiled, she knew it. The last three years, first David, then Brad drove. And this year she would have her own car when she brought it back from California.

  She waved again as she drove down the driveway. Her senior year was about to begin.

  She picked up Rhonda, who wore her wild red hair confined in a braid and finished with a broad ribbon. Their outfits matched except for Rhonda’s turquoise blouse and darker denim skirt.

  “Welcome home and don’t we look like something out of a magazine ad? My mom can’t get over the difference.” She swung up in the van and dumped her purse and book bag on the floor. “I don’t think I’m ready to dress like this all the time, though. Takes too much time.”

  “Me too. Bad as polishing boots and goggles before a race.” Trish checked both ways before pulling out on the road. “Hey, you want to fly to California on Friday? That way I’ll have someone to ride back with me.”