Golden Filly Collection One (43 page)

When Trish tiptoed in to kiss her father good-night, she had to hold back a sob. His gray look was back—in fact, his face looked almost green. Dark shadows shrouded his eyes and hollowed his cheeks. The curved plastic basin on the nightstand was a grim reminder of hospital days.

“I love you,” she whispered as she dropped a kiss on his forehead. Her father’s eyelids flickered and he nodded ever so slightly, as if any movement might bring on the vomiting again.

Trish met her mother in the doorway of the bedroom.

“Don’t worry, Tee. He’ll be better tomorrow.”

Trish wished her mother’s words carried more conviction. And who was
she
to say not to worry?

Trish chewed her bottom lip as she entered her own bedroom. Her gaze went to the verses printed on the cards she’d pinned on the wall:
“…on eagle’s wings.”

She spun out the door and back to the living room. The carved eagle stood on the mantelpiece, its wings spread wide over the pine boughs. Trish carefully lifted it down and went to the door of her parent’s bedroom. Marge was holding a straw to Hal’s mouth so he could sip a drink. The room was dim with only the light of a small lamp on the nightstand.

Trish tiptoed around the end of the bed and made room for the eagle near the lamp. A smile lifted the corners of her father’s mouth as he whispered, “Thanks.”

Trish awoke sometime during the night to put another blanket on her bed. She closed the small crack in the window that she always left open. No more snow fell in the circle of the yard light. At least that was good news. She snuggled back into her bed and fell into a deep sleep.

The next day was dark and foreboding. Clouds hovered, shading from gun-metal gray to pussy willow. A biting wind whistled through the bare trees as David and Trish took care of the animals. All racing had been canceled due to the weather.

“Dad looks terrible,” Trish blurted, slamming the bucket down in the tack room.

“At least he’s not coughing or throwing up,” David tried to console her.

“Yeah, thank God for small favors.”

“Knock it off, Trish. Mom said—”

Trish spun around and glared at her brother. “I don’t care
what
Mom said. She should have left him at the hospital where someone could help him.”

“She tried. Dad wouldn’t stay.”

“Oh.” Trish felt like crawling under a tack box.

“If you’re through with your temper tantrum, maybe we should go up for dinner, before Mom comes down to see what happened to us.”

“Sorry.” Trish closed the door behind them. A few minutes ago she would have slammed it. And that would have startled the horses. They didn’t like having both halves of their doors closed any more than she did. And right now Trish felt like all kinds of doors were closing on her.

The wind slashed at their jackets and snapped at their faces all the way to the house. Trish caught herself when she slipped on the sidewalk. Sliding could be fun, but not now.

“If that wind would just die down, I’d sprinkle some ashes on the sidewalk and steps,” David said. “You almost went down.”

“I’m just glad I don’t have to go out again tonight.” Trish gave Caesar a pat. “Do you think we should bring him in?”

“No. He’s got a good, warm doghouse. You’ll be fine, won’t you, boy?” David rubbed the dog’s ears and scratched the white ruff. Both he and Trish stamped the snow off their boots before they stepped inside.

“Dad’s still in bed,” Marge said before Trish had a chance to ask. “But he did eat some chicken noodle soup.”

Trish felt the sadness lift, just a bit.

“Now how about ham sandwiches and chicken noodle soup for you two? It’s all ready. You look frozen. Get in front of the fire and I’ll bring it to you on trays.”

Trish shivered when she took her jacket off, then sat down on the hearth with her back as close to the crackling logs as she dared.

Marge handed her a steaming mug of soup. “Maybe this will help.”

Trish felt much better when she was finally warm, had eaten, and checked on her father. Some color had returned to his cheeks and he was breathing more easily.

Pulling her quilt up over her shoulders in her own bed, Trish waited for her body heat to warm the sheets, then said her prayers. It was easier to thank God when her dad looked better.

When daylight came, she stuck her nose out of the covers. The room was cold even with the window closed. She glanced at her clock. It had stopped at two. No electricity! Trish threw back the quilt and sprinted to the window. The tree branches hung low to the ground, buckling under a blanket of ice. Even the cars were entombed.

Trish’s world was frozen over.

Chapter

06

C
ome on, Tee. I need help.” David tapped on her door.

“What’s wrong?” David was down the hall before Trish could ask any more. “Besides no electricity, that is,” she muttered as she pulled on her long johns, then jeans. “Man, it’s cold in here!”

“Where’s David?” Trish pulled a sweater over her head as she entered the living room.

“He said to find him in the pump house. He’s trying to get the generator going.” Marge closed the glass doors on the roaring fire, then stood and rubbed her hands together. “At least we can heat part of the house.”

“How’s Dad?”

“He’s okay. I wanted to get it warm out here before he gets up.”

Trish pulled on her jacket, a stocking cap, and gloves. She grabbed a flashlight and stepped out the sliding door. The wind caught her as she rounded the corner. She pulled her collar up as far as it would go and headed for the pump house that squatted on the rise halfway to the barns.

“I’ve never seen so much ice,” she said as she bent down at the open door. David was kneeling inside, tinkering with the red gasoline generator. “Here’s another flashlight. What can I do to help?”

“This blasted thing won’t start. Dad’s the one with the magic touch. If I don’t get it going pretty soon, the pump will freeze and we’ll really be in trouble.” David slammed a wrench onto the concrete. “I’m just not a good mechanic.” He tucked his bare hands under his armpits.

“Didn’t you bring gloves?”

“Sure, but I can’t work with them on.” His breath blew out in puffs, even inside the tiny building.

Trish knew to keep her mouth shut. David’s anger wasn’t directed at her. It took a lot to get him angry, but when he did—

“Hold that light so I can see over here.”

Trish hunkered down and tried to direct the beam to where David indicated.

“Trish, for pete’s sake, can’t you hold that thing still?”

Trish swallowed a retort.

“Hand me that screwdriver.”

Trish looked through the array of tools in the toolbox and spread out on the floor. “Which one?”

“The Phillips.”

She passed him the first one she saw.

“Not that one, the big one with the brown handle.”

She passed it to him, but in doing so lowered the beam of light.

“Thanks a lot. Now I can’t see anything. Can’t you at least keep the light in the right place?”

Trish clamped her teeth together.
You try to do both and see how you do, brother,
she thought.

“Okay, see the pull cord?”

“Yes.”

“It pulls hard so give it all you’ve got.”

Trish set down the light, grasped the wooden grips, and jerked hard. She banged her head on the top of the door frame and sat down,
thump,
in the snow, the cord in her hand. “Ow-w-w!” She blinked back the tears that surged in response to the blow on the back of her head.

“What happened? You okay, Trish?” David crawled from behind the generator and stuck his head out the door.

Trish held up the cord with one hand and rubbed the spot on her head with the other. She was glad her mother wasn’t there to see their predicament.

“What are we gonna do?”

“I don’t know.” David crawled the rest of the way out and rose to his feet. He kicked the door closed and turned the knob. “Maybe Dad can come look at this thing. We better get that tank loaded on the truck and go get some water. All the animals need a drink and I know the water troughs must be frozen.

“You go get the pickup and I’ll start the tractor.”

Trish blinked against the pain in her head and handed David the broken cord. “Here, we better not lose this.” She extended a hand for him to pull her to her feet. “Wow, that was a shocker.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, great. I feel like my head is separated from my body, I’m freezing cold, and I love having you holler at me. Anything else? Sure, I feel great.”

“Sorry, Tee. The keys are in the truck.”

Trish rubbed her head again before stuffing her gloved hands into her pockets.
What a miserable morning. And what a vacation!

When she tried to open the truck door, it wouldn’t budge. She couldn’t push the button in. She tried again. Nothing. She slammed her hand against the door. Still nothing.
Is it locked? No, the button is up.

She went around to try the other door. Both of them were frozen shut.

Then she heard the roar of the tractor coming to life.
Well, at least something’s working around here.
She carefully made her way down to the barn, watching the icy patches. She didn’t need another bruise.

“The truck doors are frozen,” she announced.

David slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “What more can go wrong?” He shut off the tractor and leaped to the ground. “Let’s hope Mom has some water heating in the fireplace.”

Whinnies and nickers from behind the closed stall doors meant a plea for both light and morning feed.

“Why don’t I take care of these guys while you go thaw out the truck door?” Trish nodded toward the stables. At David’s okay, Trish went down the line, opening doors on her way to the feed room. Horse heads popped out like jack-in-the-boxes, all of them eyeing Trish like they hadn’t been fed in days.

Trish filled the two five-gallon feed buckets and set them in the wheelbarrow along with the remainder of a bale of hay. Each time she swung the lower half of a stall door open, she had to push by an eager horse to get to the manger.

“Where are your manners this morning?” she complained as Spitfire snatched a mouthful of grain from the scoop. “What’s gotten into all of you?”

She grabbed Gatesby’s halter with one hand, then poured his grain and tossed hay in the rack with the other. “Sorry, guy, I don’t feel like any new bruises today. I already got my share.” In each stall she checked the water buckets. Those that weren’t dry were chunks of ice.

By the time she finished with the outside stock and Miss Tee, she could feel her own stomach rumbling. Caesar didn’t seem to mind the cold wind as he danced beside her. “Sorry, no time to play,” she said when he crouched in front of her with nose on his front paws and plumy tail waving in the air.

“What’s the holdup, David?” she called when she walked back into the house. Closed off from the living room, the kitchen was cold, but it sure beat the wind outside. Trish stamped the snow off her boots and stepped into the living room, where the fire blazed in the hearth. She pulled off her gloves and extended her hands to the warmth. The cast-iron teakettle rested on its metal frame to the side of the burning logs.

“Morning, Tee,” Hal said from the comfort of his recliner. “You look about frozen.”

“Hungry too, I’m sure,” Marge added.

“Yeah, I am. Where’s David?” She tossed her jacket at the sofa.

“He’s waiting for the water to heat so he can thaw out the truck doors.”

David stepped into the room as Marge spooned instant cocoa powder into a mug.

“And I’m going to see if I can’t get that blasted generator running,” Hal spoke over his mug of coffee.

“Dad, you shouldn’t go out….” Trish’s comment faded away at the glare from her brother.
Looks like they’ve already had a discussion about that.
Her thoughts finished her sentence.
You shouldn’t go out in that wind and cold.
She wanted to tie her dad to the chair.

“Why don’t you wait until I get back with the water tank so I can help you.” David shrugged into his jacket. “Trish can water the animals while we fix the generator.”