Golden Filly Collection One (68 page)

By the time Trish and Spitfire returned, a couple of men had pulled up chairs and were visiting with Hal. Trish could hear them talking horses as she passed.

“Trish,” her father called to her. “There’s someone here I’d like you to meet.”

Trish turned and walked back to the tack room.

“Patrick O’Hern, this is my daughter, Trish.” Hal put his hand on her arm. “I can remember reading about this man years ago, Trish. He retired from a good career as a jockey and went on to become a renowned trainer.”

Trish shook hands with a rounded man no taller than she. His blue eyes twinkled above Santa Claus cheeks as he removed a battered fedora hat to greet her.

“So you be the lass they’re all hummin’ about.” His brogue surprised Trish. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Do you have a horse here?” Trish asked. From the abrupt silence she knew she’d said the wrong thing.

“Nay, lass, that was years ago.”

Trish flashed a questioning look at her father. At the slight shake of his head, she nodded at the old trainer. “It was nice meeting you. I’ve gotta go feed a hungry horse.” As she left, she could hear the conversation pick up again.
Now what was that all about?
she wondered. Putting her curiosity aside, she went about the evening chores.

“Now you sleep well,” she told Spitfire after forking out some dirty straw. She filled his water bucket and measured the grain, then leaned against his shoulder, stroking his neck while he ate. “It’s strange not to be so busy that I don’t know if I’m coming or going. Wish Rhonda were here, or Brad or David.”

Trish really wished for help in the morning when she had to feed, ride, clean the stall, cool out the horse, and tape his legs again. The early morning breeze touched her face with cool, velvet fingers, but by midmorning the air felt heavy. Sweat ran down her back and neck.

“I’m sorry I can’t help you more,” Hal apologized. “I didn’t plan for things to happen like this.”

“I know. Don’t worry about it. I needed some good old manual labor anyway.” She rubbed her shoulder. “Now let’s eat. I’m starved.”

Trish had just finished saying grace when she felt a person take the seat next to her. She brushed a strand of hair back as she glanced sideways.

“Hi, sorry I wasn’t there to help you this morning.” Red grinned his irresistible grin.

Trish felt a tingle down to her toes. “Hi, yourself. I managed quite well, thank you.” She laid her napkin in her lap. “How did you do yesterday?”

“One win, a show, one fourth, and we won’t discuss the other.” He took a bite of his scrambled eggs. “Is your dad feeling better?”

“How’d you know…”

“I read, remember. Besides, one look at him yesterday and I could tell he was having a hard time breathing.”

“Yes, I…” Trish turned in her chair so she could really look at the jockey next to her.
I’d like to tell you what I’m worried about. No, I refuse to use the W word. It’s about what’s happening with my dad. I need a friend here.
“He needs a lot of rest and has to stay out of the dust.”

“That’s tough, the dust, I mean. Well, the resting too.”

“He didn’t think it would be this hard, or we probably wouldn’t have come.” Trish kept her voice low so her father, who was talking with someone else, wouldn’t hear her.

“Glad you told me. Does he need you with him all the time?”

“No. Not really, why?”

“I can help you some in the mornings, and maybe we can, I mean, I can show you some of the country when I’m not riding. Have you seen everything here at the track yet?”

“No. I—we—uhhh…”

“How about I show you and your dad around after we finish eating?”

“That’ll be fine,” Hal said when Trish asked. “We need to stop by the race office first and get our licenses. Are you riding today?”

“Not till late, so I won’t have to be up in the jockey room so early.” Red finished his milk in a long swallow. He raised an eyebrow at the question on Trish’s face. “We have to report in two hours before our first race and return to the jockey room between races until we’re finished for the day. Derby Day you’ll have to check in about nine-thirty.”

“But why?”

“Track rules. Don’t worry, I’ll introduce you to Frances Brown. She runs the women’s room. You’ll like her.”

Trish felt a sinking in her stomach. She wouldn’t be able to help get Spitfire ready. Good thing David would be here by then.

The Evanstons filled out the paper work and paid their fees. Trish flinched at the cost of final entry. They were now officially listed as Derby contenders.

Eric proved to be a knowledgeable guide as they walked slowly around the track and through the tunnel under the grandstand. They saw the empty saddling stalls and walking paddock, fenced but open to viewers, as well as the owner’s and trainer’s lounge with a large screen for watching the races. They took the escalator to the jockey rooms.

“Wait here,” Red told Trish at the entrance doors. “I’ll call Frances.”

A few moments later, an attractive woman with white hair smoothed back and tied at her neck introduced herself. “I’m Frances Brown, kind of the room mother here. Mr. Evanston…”

“Hal.”

Her smile felt warm and welcoming. “Hal, you go through those doors and Red will give you the tour. We’ll meet you back at the coffee shop. Trish, the scales are through those double doors too. You need to let them know when you’re going in so everyone’s decent.”

Trish couldn’t believe her eyes as Frances showed her around. The men’s jockey room at Portland wasn’t as nice as this. Lockers, showers, a room with beds in case someone was tired, a whirlpool for injuries, sauna; and then they walked through a short hall to the recreation room with a snack bar for men and women. Some guys were already shooting pool and a TV flickered in one corner. The track monitor was showing videos of past Derby races.

Hal and Trish looked at each other and shook their heads. Things sure were different in Kentucky.

“Y’all come on up and visit and I’ll introduce you to the other women jockeys around here,” Frances invited. “We get into some pretty good story swappin’ up here.”

“I’d like that,” Trish replied.

“You shown them the museum yet?”

“Nope, that’s next,” Red answered. “We’ll meet you back outside, Trish.”

“Thanks, Frances,” Trish said as they turned the corner back into the women’s room. “I’ll probably see you next week.”

“Any questions, you just ask,” Frances said. “I’m here, seems like all the time.”

The museum was located just outside the main gate. Trish realized immediately it would take hours to go through it. She glanced in the gift store just enough to know she’d like to spend more time there.

“Wait till you see the show in here on Thursday morning when they draw post positions.” Red waved to a two-story oval room with other wings branching off. “This is the best museum on Thoroughbred racing anywhere. Y’all oughta take the tour if you can. There’s a library here and you can watch all the previous races that were filmed on video.”

Trish stood in the center of the room and slowly turned around. Pictures, statues, displays, lists of all the Derby winners, all about the sport and industry she loved. She felt as if she were in the midst of greatness.

“Wow!” She closed her eyes to picture Spitfire’s name on the list of Derby champions. When she opened them again, she saw Eric watching her. His grin surely matched her own. She could feel her cheeks stretching.

“That horseshoe out there is used only for the Derby,” Red told them as they left the dimness of the tunnel under the grandstand. He showed them another place to their left, also banked with flowers but not nearly so grand. “The rest of the time this is for the winners. That seating area right up above it is for owners and their wives.”

“Hey, Red,” another jockey called. “If you’re up on the first, you better get up there.”

“See y’all later.” Red smiled from Trish to her father. “Your badges will get you in anywhere.” He walked backward as he talked. “Enjoy the races.”

“Nice guy,” Hal said as they followed the fence line to the backside.

“Yeah.”

Even if he is bossy,
her little voice chuckled.

Sunday morning two bales of straw were stacked by stall five when they arrived. Eric had the stall half mucked out when Trish returned from walking Spitfire.

“Gotta run.” He grabbed up his helmet as he left.

That afternoon Hal felt much better, so he and Trish drove to Lexington to see the bluegrass country.

“People around here sure must love to mow.” Trish had mild whiplash from trying to see both sides of the manicured highway at once. “See, even the pastures look like front lawns.”

“Better’n our yard,” Hal agreed with her.

“And the fences. I thought they’d all be white, but some are black.

And look at those barns.”

“Even the barns are fancier than our house.” Hal pointed out a particularly impressive structure on the top of a rise.

Trish rolled her window down. “It even smells good. I never believed what they said about the grass being blue, but it is.” She pointed to a field that hadn’t been mowed. The breeze rippled waves of deep blue-green across the stand of grass.

Hal pulled off the main highway so they could drive slower. He stopped at one field where a group of mares and foals grazed peacefully.

“Aren’t they something?” One youngster kicked up his heels and soon three raced across the rolling pasture. “Already in training for the races.”

“So many at once.” Trish rested her chin on her hands on the window. “I’ve never seen so many foals at one time.”

“And look at the field of babies, all those yearlings.” Hal pulled the car forward to the next pasture.

“Seems funny to call them babies.”

“I know.” Hal checked his watch. “We better head back. We’ll try to come back tomorrow or Tuesday and visit the Horse Park.”

“Maybe Mom and David’ll want to see that too.”

“If they get here in time.”

By the time they’d finished chores, Red hadn’t made an appearance. Trish refused to admit she felt disappointed. After all, he hadn’t said
when
he’d see her again. She decided to call Rhonda when they got back to the hotel, and tell her about the Jacuzzi. She slumped in her seat. Much as she loved being with her father, she did miss the rest of the four musketeers.

“You better cut it off.” Hal tapped his watch later that evening. “Half an hour on long distance is enough.”

“Okay,” Trish sighed. “Dad says I gotta go. No, I’m not taking a picture of Eric. Rhonda, knock it off. He’s just being nice to a stranger. Tell Brad all that’s been going on. Bye.”

She slumped against her pillows. There was a three-hour time difference. Right now Washington seemed terribly faraway. She moped into the bathroom and started the water running in the tub. A hot soak would feel mighty good, and while it was filling she could talk to David and her mother. Her father had dialed home as soon as she’d hung up.

Sadness pulled Trish down into a puddle of lament after the call home.

Marge still wouldn’t say for sure she was coming.

Chapter

12

M
onday’s paper carried a story about Trish and Spitfire.

“Can’t these guys get anything straight?” Trish folded the paper and handed it back to her dad. They were sitting in their tack room about ready to go for breakfast.

“What don’t you like?”

“I don’t know, just a feeling, I guess. Like they think I don’t ride anything but Spitfire. That anything else I ride is just accidental. You know I’ve been doing all right at The Meadows.”

“You and I both know you’re an exceptional rider, but the rest of the racing world won’t think so until you ride other horses at other tracks. That’s just the facts.” Hal shrugged his shoulders. “Let’s go eat.”

Eric didn’t join them at the track kitchen like he usually had.

Trish caught herself looking around for him. The two bales of straw had been by their stall, so she knew he was at the track.

Oh, so you’re missing him, are you?
her little nagger snickered.
Thought you said he was bossy.

Trish wiped her mouth with her napkin. Eric was just a friend, that’s all.
And I need a friend here. Everyone else is so far away.
She picked up her father’s tray and returned it with hers to the washing window.

“You want to go to the Horse Park today?” Hal asked as they drove out the gate.

Trish looked out her window. Heavy dark clouds covered the western sky. A brisk wind tossed trash in the air and whipped the branches of the huge shade trees around.

“I don’t know. The weather doesn’t look too good.”

By the time they looped up onto the freeway, lightning forked against the black clouds. A few seconds later, thunder crashed louder than the sound of the car engine.

“Dad, let’s go back to the track. You know Spitfire doesn’t like loud noises.”

“And he’s never been through a midwest thunderstorm.”

“Neither have I.”

Jumbo raindrops pelted their car by the time they returned to the track. Lightning had just split the sky when Trish bailed out of the car by barn 41. She heard Spitfire scream as the thunder rolled over them, rattling the metal roof like a giant kettledrum.