Golden Filly Collection Two

by Lauraine Snelling

  “Come on!” Trish swung her whip again, two right-handed slaps. The gelding leaped forward. Two strides and he crossed the line. A win by a nose. Trish grinned at Red and flashed him a victory sign. “Sorry about that,” she called.

  “Sure you are. My turn next.”

  “Good job, Trish. You rode that one perfectly.” Shipson, Bernice, and Marge joined Trish in the winner’s circle. “I’ll bet Red wishes you’d stayed in Washington.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so, dear,” Bernice drawled, making them all laugh.

  The next race could have been a rerun except for a different ending. Red gave the victory signal and Trish took the place.

  “Sorry, Adam. I tried, I really did.” Trish jumped to the ground.

  “I’m happy with this. Winning would have been good, but this old boy did just fine.” He let the groom lead the gray gelding away. “You be ready now. Firefly’s waiting.”

  Trish nodded and headed back up the stairs to the jockey room. She had four races to wait out.

  By the seventh race the rain still held off except for a sprinkle now and then. But when Trish followed the line of jockeys out to the saddling paddock, it looked like a mighty hand had painted the sky black.

  “Sure hope this holds off a few more minutes. I don’t like the look of those clouds at all.” Adam rebuckled the girth and checked the fit on the bridle. “You know this girl better than anyone, Trish. You need to watch numbers four and eight. I think they’re the real contenders.”

  Trish nodded her agreement. Her mouth had adopted the Sahara feel again. Thunder clapped and she flinched. Knock it off, she ordered herself. You know how to relax, so just do it. She smoothed her fingers down the bright white number one. She hated being on the rail. Firefly didn’t care for it much either. Guess they’d just have to break faster than anyone.

  Totally calm on the outside and fluttering on the inside, Trish waited for the gun. At the shot, the gates clanged open and Firefly leaped out in a perfect break.

  “Easy, girl.” Trish kept a firm hand on the reins but let the filly set her own pace. Going through the turn they pulled ahead enough to let Firefly run the way she liked. Down the backstretch they pounded, horses jockeying for position. Into the final turn. Lightning flashed just above the cantilevered roof of the grandstands, seeming to dance on the third cupola. The heavens opened like a dam sending water thundering down a river.

  The riders and horses were drenched between one breath and the next. The horse who came up on the outside faltered and clipped Firefly’s rear foot. Trish heard a crack. Firefly fell forward and Trish catapulted over the filly’s head.

  The force when she hit the ground came from both sides. She tried to roll as she’d been taught, but a weight crushed down on her chest. When Trish forced her eyes open to a slit, Firefly stood with one foreleg dangling. Not Firefly! Her silent scream followed her down the deep black pit of oblivion.

  When she felt the medics putting her on a board, she came to enough to mumble, “Don’t let them put her down.”

  “Easy, miss.” A rich Southern voice tried to calm her.

  “No!” Trish summoned every bit of strength she had. She heard Adam’s voice somewhere near. “Promise! Adam! Don’t put her down!”

  “I’ll try, Tee. As God is my witness, I’ll try.”

  The blackness surged back.

  Trish could hear her mother’s voice, but no matter how hard she tried, no words made it out of her mind. Marge was praying; that much Trish knew. The medical people made several comments as they worked over her. I must be hurt bad this time. The thought floated through her mind. She didn’t have any ability to stop it. But thoughts were all she could manage.

  She heard doctors giving sharp commands and the words “surgery—stat!” along with “punctured lung.” Must be pretty serious. The words “code blue” shocked her. What shocked her even more was her point of view. Trish felt as if she were floating up in the corner of the room, looking down on the table where the surgical team worked over a body. Was that her down there? And if so, what was she doing up here? Am I dreaming? If I am, this is the strangest dream I’ve ever had.

  She felt herself drifting off when suddenly a long, dark tunnel beckoned, and with a mild sense of curiosity, she entered it. Far away at the end, it appeared as if a light were guiding her. Total peace surrounded her. In fact, she seemed to float on a current drawing her closer with love. She followed the light, her curiosity deepening. Just when she felt sure she would see someone she knew, she felt snapped backward like a ball on the end of a rubber band.

  The doctor’s voice sounded above her. “Okay, we got her. Let’s get this stitched up and get outta here.” Trish heard no more.

  When she floated back up out of the gray swirling clouds, she could hear her mother talking with a gentle-sounding woman. Trish felt her eyelids flutter open, as if the action helped pull her mind back to the room. “You’re awake.” Marge leaned over the bed so Trish could see her without moving her head. Trish blinked her eyes. Nodding took too much effort.

  Why didn’t you let me stay there? But with the tracheal tube in her throat so she could breath, she couldn’t say anything even if she’d had the strength.

  “You’re in intensive care. The doctors repaired your lung.”

  The accident came screaming back. A shudder started at her feet and raced upward.

  “Tee, it’s okay. You’re going to be fine.” A tear trickled down Marge’s cheek. “You’re going to be fine.”

  What about Firefly? But Trish slipped back into fog, unable to ask her question.

  When she swam to the surface the next time, David stood next to the bed, holding her hand. Maybe it was his voice that woke her up. “Hi, baby sister. Now don’t panic, easy. Firefly is in about the same shape you are.” As the tension eased out of Trish’s jaw, he smiled again. “I knew that’s what was worrying you. There’s a plate and a bunch of screws in her leg, so if it heals right, we’ll be able to use her for a broodmare, at least.”

  Trish felt ten-pound weights pulling her eyelids back down, and she was off to the swirls where there was no noise, no pain, nothing. If only she could stay awake long enough to tell them about the bright place.

  Pain like nothing she’d known in her life brought her back to reality. Leave me alone! While the words screamed in her mind, only a groan escaped around the tube.

  “Hey, welcome back.” The nurse at Trish’s head smiled down at her. “I know this is making you uncomfortable, but you’re on your way to a regular room.”

  Uncomfortable! Lady… Trish clamped her teeth together, but all they hit was the tube.

  “On three.” They lifted her from one bed to another with a sheet, just like she’d moved Caesar on the tarp. Trish escaped back into the world of nothing.

  “Water.” Trish’s eyes flew open. She’d actually said a word. No tube. Oxygen by nose prongs. Bed in a room with peach color on the walls.

  “Here.” Marge pressed a spoon against Trish’s lips. “It’s ice for you to suck on. It’ll help the thirst.”

  Trish took the wonderful cold chips in her mouth and let them lie on her tongue. She’d never appreciated ice before. Better than—“Can I have a Diet Coke?” Her croak could only have been heard in a silent room.

  David laughed from the foot of the bed. “She’s getting better.” He came up and took her hand. “That’s my sister.”

  Trish accepted more ice chips. When she tried to move, pain shot through her from front to back and around. Maybe it was chickening out to sleep, but it didn’t hurt there. When would she be able to tell them about her adventure?

  “The doctors said we almost lost you.” It was the next day, and with Trish able to talk better, Marge sat filling in some holes for her questioning daughter.

  “I know. I heard them.” Trish turned her head to be able to look right at her mother. “Mom, it was the neatest thing. Like I was watching what they were doing, watching from up in the corner of the
ceiling. Then I saw this long tunnel with a light way at the other end and when I started down it, I wasn’t afraid. It was full of peace. When I got to the end, there was the most glorious light.…”

  Trish stopped, letting her mind remember and the rest of her feel.

  “And then?” Marge whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “I felt as if Dad was there but I didn’t see him.” Trish paused again. “I don’t think he had a choice.”

  “A choice?”

  “Uh-huh. I got to live. But I don’t blame Dad for wanting to stay there. Such love. All around.” Trish grasped her mother’s hand. “It was beautiful!” She turned again to watch her mother’s face. “Don’t cry. I’m here.” Trish’s lips curved in a smile. “This world’s a pretty special place, isn’t it?”

  Marge nodded. “Yes, it is.”

  “Mom, I just got the strangest feeling. Would you pray with me for Kendall Highstreet?”

  “Of course.” Marge blinked before leaning closer to the bed. “You’re ready for that?”

  Trish nodded. “It’s like I have to.” They clasped hands together and let the silence of the room surround them. “Heavenly Father, please come into Highstreet’s life. Help him to know you as Lord and Savior.” She paused. “Your turn.”

  Marge added some requests of her own and closed with, “Thank you for bringing Trish back to me.”

  “I’m not afraid anymore. Everything looks different, brighter, shinier. Like you.…Did you know your face glows when you look at me?”

  “Must be love, huh?” Marge wiped the tears from her cheeks.

  “I think I got a miracle.” Trish’s voice contained the wonder that lit her face.

  “Having you right here is miracle enough for me.” Marge laid her hand along Trish’s cheek. “Why don’t you sleep now so you can get better fast?”

  “Wonder what I had to come back for?” Her eyelids fluttered on her cheekbones.

  “I’m sure God will let you know—in time.” Marge raised Trish’s hand and held it against her cheek.

  “He will, won’t He?” Trish smiled again and drifted off into the healing sleep her body needed.

  To Wayne,

  my best friend

  and the love of my life.

  We have plenty of adventures

  yet to come.

  Chapter

  01

  What about Firefly? Trish Evanston sluggishly swam away from the nightmare and back to consciousness. But it wasn’t just a bad dream. The horriflying accident at the track had really happened.

  “Trish, Tee, it’s okay.” The comforting sound of her mother’s voice brought Trish instantly and totally awake.

  “No, it’s not. Have you been over to see Firefly?” Trish scrubbed the palms of her hands across her eyes and at the same moment ducked away from the pain. All the moving parts of her body were connected, in one way or another, to her broken ribs—and the incision to repair her punctured lung. The accident at the track hadn’t been kind to either her or the filly.

  “I’ve got to get over to the vet’s to see her.”

  “Not until the doctor agrees.” Marge folded her arms across her chest, a sure sign she didn’t plan on changing her mind.

  Hospitals were not Trish’s favorite place to be, let alone hospital beds. Tricia Marie Evanston, as her mother called her when peeved beyond measure (which had happened with increasing frequency the last two days), begged the doctor for the third time to release her.

  “Ah’m sorry, ma deah,” he repeated for the third time in his smooth southern drawl. “Y’all just need some more healin’ time here. Punctured lungs don’t heal overnight.”

  By now Trish was fed up to her ears with soft-spoken southerners who smiled so winningly and did what they thought best anyway. All she wanted was out.

  “But, Mother, what are they going to do about Firefly?” Trish clenched the blanket in her fists.

  “They’re doing what they can.” Marge, slumped in the orange plastic chair beside the bed, studied her cuticles.

  “How bad is it?”

  Marge shook her head, obviously wishing she were anywhere but under Trish’s grilling. “Infection has set in; she’s not eating and drinking well. They’ve called in more equine specialists. Donald Shipson has been taking care of her so I could be here with you.”

  “I know and I’m sorry to be such a grouch.” Trish ignored the pang of guilt. She tried to catch her mother’s gaze, but Marge refused. She’s not telling me everything. The thought clenched in her stomach. But rather than attacking, Trish continued her pleading. “But I’m fine now. Why won’t they let me out of here?”

  “Maybe the doctor figures you’ll do something stupid.”

  Trish attempted an innocent look and failed miserably. “Me? What could I do? I can hardly even walk down the hall without puffing.” She didn’t add, and hurting. The doctor had told her that ribs smashed like hers would be painful, but pain didn’t begin to cover it. She turned to stare out the window of her private room in Louisville Memorial Hospital. The Ohio River flowed serenely toward its distant rendezvous with the mighty Mississippi. “I’ve been cooped up in here nearly a week.”

  “The first three days you were too sick to care, but who’s counting?”

  Trish was. She couldn’t let go of the terriflying feeling. “Mother?” She chose her words with great care. “Please answer me honestly. What more do you know about Firefly?”

  “Nothing, nothing at all. You’ll be able to see for yourself as soon as you’re well enough.”

  Mother wouldn’t lie to me, would she?

  “Mail call.” The bubbly day-nurse, Sue Morgan, interrupted their discussion. She hefted a shoe box full of letters and cards. “We’re weighing the mail now rather than counting. This one’s about two and a half pounds.”

  “Good grief.” Marge and Trish just looked at each other and shook their heads.

  “Where do you want this?” The nurse glanced around the room. Flowers and plants hid every inch of flat surface, and cards and posters covered half the walls. Balloons—square, round, and every color of the rainbow—bobbed in the air currents in the corner designated as “the balloon corral.”

  Trish shrugged. “Over by the wall, I guess. How am I ever gonna answer all these cards?”

  “Ask some of your friends to help you when you get home.” The nurse tossed a couple of extra-large envelopes—one hot pink, the other neon green—on the bed. “These didn’t fit in the box. Guess you can start there.” She headed for the door and turned to ask, “Can I get you anything? Ice, water, ice cream, tapioca, or chocolate pudding?” She ticked them off on her fingers, her eyes twinkling above cheeks always rounded by a grin. “A Diet Coke?”

  “Oh, yes please. That sounds heavenly.”

  “Which?”

  “All of the above. If I keep eating like this I’ll be fat as a pig before they let me out of here.”

  “We don’t intend to keep you forever, you know. Just seems like it.” She flashed Trish another grin, the kind that did good things for anyone in sight. “Marge, you want something too?”

  “No thanks.” Marge checked her watch. “I should go back to the motel and get a shower.”

  “Shower…that’s it. I get to wash my hair today. You promised.” Trish ran her fingers through hair that felt as grimy as a horse’s tail after a muddy race.

  “I was hoping you’d forget. It doesn’t look so bad when you keep it braided like that.”

  “Yeah right.” Trish’s look accused the young woman of lying through her teeth.

  Sue leaned one hand against the doorjamb. “You feel up to bending over the sink? Doc says to keep that incision dry for a couple more days. Then we can plastic-tape you.”

  “Anything. Red’s coming tonight.”

  “So what’s new? I hear that good-lookin’ redhead shows up here every night.”

  Trish raised her voice to talk over the nurse’s comment. “And I want to look
human again.”

  Sue winked at Marge. “Sure wish he’d come earlier so’s I could meet him. Or maybe he could bring a friend.”

  “He’s up in the eighth today. Sorry.” Trish felt a grin sneak up from inside and blossom on her face. How come she could never think of or talk about this guy without a smile and the warm squigglies down in her middle that went along with it?

  “Speaking of hair washing.” Marge fluffed the gray-streaked sides of her hair with her fingertips. “Mine could do with some attention, so I’ll let you two play beauty parlor while I do the same for me.”

  “There’s a good beauty shop right around the corner if you like. I know getting my hair done makes me feel like a whole new woman.” Sue headed for the door. “I’ll call and make you an appointment right now.”

  “That sounds wonderful.” Marge looked back to her daughter. “You’re sure you don’t need me?”

  “Hey, I’m seventeen years old, remember? Time for me to stand on my own feet.” Trish made a gesture that took in the hospital bed and her body in it. “Or at least, as soon as they let me.”

  “Good news.” Sue returned in a rush. “They can take you in fifteen minutes. Turn right out the front entrance and left at the corner. You’ll see it—emma Lou’s emporium—two doors down.” She handed Trish a cardboard container of orange and vanilla ice cream and set a can of Diet Coke next to a glass of ice. “Soon’s you finish this, we’ll get you to the bathroom.”

  Marge dropped a kiss on the top of Trish’s head and made a face. “Yuk, you smell like…”

  “Bye, Mom, and thanks a million. You really know how to make a sick daughter feel good.” Trish dug into the ice cream and licked her spoon. She waved as Marge left.