Golden Filly Collection One (28 page)
“Want help with Gatesby?” David asked.
Trish nodded.
Ears flat, Gatesby threw up his head when she reached for his halter. “Oh, knock it off,” she ordered as she reached again, this time clamping firm fingers around the blue webbing. “We don’t need any trouble from you today.”
David snapped a lead rope on the opposite side as she paused before leading the colt out the opened stall door. Gatesby jumped around, rolling his eyes and spooking at anything that moved, including shadows. But at the echo of front feet on the trailer gate, he lunged backward. The bay planted his feet like trees. No matter what they tried—grain, a carrot, kind words—the horse wouldn’t budge.
When David got behind Gatesby to push, the horse lashed out with one rear hoof, barely missing David’s knee.
David muttered some words Trish knew he hadn’t learned at home.
Gatesby glared at Trish. He even pulled away when she stroked his neck and rubbed the spot behind his ear.
“I’m hooding him.” David stalked off to the tack room.
“You dummy.” Trish felt the urge to smack the stubborn horse with her whip. “You could use a whip right now, and we don’t even keep one down here at the barn.”
Gatesby shivered when David slipped the hood in place. He dropped his head and sighed, a deep sigh that melted all resistance, then followed his two leaders into the trailer.
Trish wisely kept her mouth shut. The look on David’s face matched the one she’d seen earlier on her father’s.
By the time they’d unloaded the horses and fed all the stock, darkness blanketed the landscape. A drizzle blew in on the evening wind. David decided to cut the workout, so Trish gave Dan’l an extra bit of rubbing attention before they unhitched the trailer and headed for home.
“I’m starved.” Trish stuffed her cold hands in her pockets. “Let’s stop at Mac’s for a burger.”
David obligingly took the roads to I-5 and stopped at the drivethrough window. With Coke and hamburger in hand, David completed the circular on-ramp back to the freeway. Traffic ground to a halt, and flashing signs overhead announced the raising of the bridge to allow a ship to pass up or down the Columbia River.
“Sorry.” Trish hid behind her Coke. The glare David cast her way was enough to melt the ice in her drink.
Maybe Dad’ll be asleep by the time we get home.
Trish allowed that and other dreamy thoughts to occupy her mind. They were better than those of her nagger. She’d heard enough from him the last few days to last a lifetime.
Just tell the truth, and I’ll let…
It was her nagger again, getting in his nickel’s worth. Trish tried to concentrate on Saturday’s race.
“Sure hope Gatesby settles down by tomorrow.” She slurped the last bit of soft drink.
“Hmm-mm.” David settled further down in the seat. He finished his food and thrummed his fingers on the steering wheel.
Trish jabbed her straw to the swish of the windshield wipers. All she could think about was the confrontation ahead.
David grabbed the container out of her hand. “For pete’s sake…”
“Sor-ry.”
Traffic began moving again.
“David?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you think they’re gonna do?”
“Mom and Dad? I don’t know. They’re both hurt and mad.”
“And disappointed.”
“Yeah.”
Trish chewed on her lip. “What do you think I should do?”
“Just get it over with. You want to be treated like an adult, here’s your chance to act like one.”
Trish settled lower in the seat.
When she arrived home, Caesar greeted her, then followed David to the barn, where he’d finish the evening chores. The fire crackling in the fireplace was warm and inviting when Trish opened the sliding glass door. The fish tank bubbled comfortingly in the corner. She pulled off her boots at the jack and shrugged out of her jacket. She could see her father lying in the recliner, his eyes closed. Her mother’s rocking chair sang its familiar creaky tune.
Trish took a deep breath.
“There’s dinner in the oven.” Marge didn’t look up from her knitting.
“Thanks. I’m not hungry.” Trish crossed the room to sit on the fieldstone hearth. “Is Dad…”
“I’m awake, Tee. Just start at the beginning.”
“Well, last Sunday Mr. Rodgers asked me to ride for him on Wednesday. I told him yes before I even thought because I was so happy to be asked. Then I…” Trish told everything she could think of, including her load of guilt. “And I’m sorry for lying—not telling you all the truth. But, Dad, I know how bad we need the money.” She studied her hands hanging between her knees. Neither of her parents had said a word the entire time.
When she sneaked a look at her mother, Trish could see the still-tight jaw. Her knitting needles seemed to jab into the yarn.
“Well…why don’t you holler at me—anything. Say something!” She dropped to her knees beside her father’s chair. “Please, Dad, I’m so sorry.” The tears came, silently dripping onto her hands that clenched the recliner arm.
Her father lifted a hand and stroked her bent head. “Trish, this hasn’t been easy for any of us. But we’ve trusted you kids to be honest with us. You broke that trust.”
“But I…I…” Trish tried to talk around the tears.
“I know. You did the best you could. And you did a good job, but the bottom line is you did something you knew was wrong. Honey, it’s not your job to take care of this family. We’ve always trusted God to provide and He has. He will. Trish, you should have come to us first.”
“But I was…” Trish paused to swallow. She dropped her head further. “I was afraid you’d say no.”
“And I would have. Trish, when will you learn that we only want what’s best for you?” Marge dropped her knitting in her lap. “You’re exhausted. Your grades are suffering. You’ve been snappy. And accidents happen when people are too tired.”
“Mom, I’ve been trying my best.”
“I know.”
David came in and sank down on the sofa.
“What if I promise never to do anything like this again? If I swear to always come to you first? Dad? Mom? I can’t handle the guilt.”
Hal nodded as he brought his recliner upright. “I know, Trish. That’s why God gave us Jesus. To rid us of the guilt and teach us forgiveness.”
Marge made a little sound in her throat.
“I know how hard you all have been working. And I’ll never be able to tell you how grateful I am—we are.” Hal included Marge, smiling at her. “I wish I could say things will get better soon.” He shook his head. “But I can’t.” He stopped to swallow and lick his lips. With one weary hand he rubbed the creases in his forehead.
Trish felt the tears stinging again. One trickled down her cheek to match the one on her father’s.
The fire snapped in the fireplace. David sniffed and got up for a tissue.
Hal blinked, then sighed.
It seemed to Trish that the weight of despair crushed her father further into his chair. She took hold of his hand and raised it to her cheek, wishing and praying that her strength would help him.
Could
help him.
“We’ll just have to continue to take one step at a time. You’re right, Trish. Money is a big problem. We have no health insurance and the hospital bills have already wiped out most of our savings.”
Trish leaped up and dashed to the closet for her jacket. “Here.” She dropped the envelopes into her father’s lap. “And I’m not sure how much my check will be for the races. Over a couple thousand dollars, I think. It’ll help, Dad.”
Hal smiled as he read the note. “My good friends.” He smoothed the bills and handed Marge the note. “Trish, this should be your money, but thanks.”
Marge smiled over the note, then raised her head to smile at Trish. “I hate to take your money too.” She shook her head. “But…well…thank you, Tee.”
Trish felt a warm glow spreading through her midsection.
“I have thought of getting a job myself,” Marge said after rereading the note. “But I’m not really trained for anything. However, Trish, you simply
cannot
miss school to race.” Her mother’s tone allowed no argument. “I know you can make the best money—if you win—but school
has
to come first. The minute your grades fall, weekday racing goes.”
Trish drew a deep breath.
They weren’t going to make her quit riding for other farms!
Marge continued. “We’ve given you a lot of freedom in the past, but now we’ll want a complete report every Sunday evening. We’ll sit down for a family meeting and talk about the past week and what’s coming up. There will be no more half-truths; we
must
know what’s going on around here.”
Hal nodded. “Your mother’s right. We have to be able to trust each other. And we can’t afford to have anyone else sick around here. I know how important it is for me not to worry too. We all have to believe that God knows what He’s doing. He’s always taken care of us in the past, and now is no exception. He
will
provide, but we have to work together.” He looked intently at each member of the family.
Trish felt her eyes fill again. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded.
Hal let his hands fall at his sides and resettled himself in the chair. “Now, Trish, how many mounts do you have for tomorrow?”
T
rish crawled into bed that night with her father’s “I forgive you, Tee” ringing in her ears. She could also see her mother’s face, the grim line about her mouth. Family meetings every week. No more fibbing about how school was going. Total honesty—or pay the consequences. She knew there would be no more stretching the boundaries. Besides, she’d learned that cheating of any kind hurt too badly. Not only herself—but her whole family.
“Thank you, heavenly Father, for bringing Dad home again. And for helping to clean up the mess I made. God, please make my Dad well again. And help me to win tomorrow. Amen.” She thumped her pillow and turned over. Morning would be here before she had half enough sleep. A brief snatch of song drifted through her mind,
“Raise you up on eagle’s wings.”
She smiled her way to dreamland.
Hal sat with a cup of coffee cradled in his hands at the breakfast table the next morning. His smile made Trish think the sun had broken through the heavy overcast. Her mother humming in the kitchen, bacon sizzling in the pan, David singing off-key in the shower; all seemed normal—like life was supposed to be at Runnin’ On Farm.
