Golden Filly Collection One (49 page)

“Just be quiet!” Trish ordered. She flexed the fingers of her left hand to ease a cramp before picking up her pen again to finish her paper. It took real effort to form some of the letters.
Well, at least I can use Wite-Out. It’s better than throwing a page away and starting over.
She blocked out the words that looked too bad and blew on the white liquid until it was dry. One thing she’d found handy was to fasten her paper to a clipboard. That way it didn’t scoot all over when she tried to write.

Trish went to church the next morning under much duress. From the looks on her parents’ faces when she asked to stay home, she didn’t dare ask again.
But I don’t have to listen,
she promised herself.
I don’t think God cares anymore, so why should I?

Everyone was happy to see Hal back. They reminded him of their prayers for him as well as for Trish. Gritting her teeth was getting to be a necessary habit. She got so weary of saying “I’m fine” when people asked “How are you?” that she went to sit in the car.
I should tell them how I really feel.
Her thoughts continued in a negative vein.

You want to know what I think?
her nagger chimed in.

“No. Not really.” Trish slumped lower in the seat.

I think you’re just throwing a pity party—poor Trish.

“Easy for you to say.” Trish wished she could put her hands over her ears in an attempt to drown him out.

“Stay in the car,” Hal told Trish when they arrived home. “You and I are going for a drive.”

“I—uh—I have to use the bathroom,” Trish scrambled for a way out.

“Okay. I’ll wait for you here.” Hal settled himself behind the wheel. “Why don’t you bring a couple of your mother’s fresh cinnamon rolls? That should hold us till dinner.”

“We’ll be ready to eat about three,” Marge said before shutting the door.

“Now, where would you like to go?” Hal asked when Trish returned to the car. Her mother had had to push her out the door.

“I don’t care.” Trish struggled with the seat belt.

“How about Lake Merwin?”

Trish shrugged.

“Want a milk shake in Battle Ground?”

“Not really.” She chewed her bottom lip. “But if you want one…”

Trish looked out the window without really seeing the scenery. What she
wanted
to do was take a nap. Life was so much simpler when she was sound asleep.

She felt the car come to a stop. When she opened her eyes she could see the blue lake glistening in the winter sun. Hundred-foot-tall fir trees sighed in the breeze. She examined her fingernails.

“You haven’t been down to see the horses much lately.” Hal turned in his seat and picked up a cinnamon roll. “They miss you.”

“It’s easier not to.”

“That’s not like you, to choose the easiest way.” He waited for an answer. When Trish remained silent, he continued. “Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”

Trish shrugged.

“You’re not eating.”

“Guess I’m not hungry.”

“Come on, Tee. Let me in so I can help you.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Trish angled her body to face him. “I can’t ride. I can’t write. I’m clumsy. And when I bang into things, I hurt. I’m tired all the time. I—” She drew circles on her pant leg with her fingernail.

“Yes?”

“I feel ugly and stupid and I’m sick and tired of these sweats and…” She sniffed the tears back. “And I
hate
blubbering all the time and…”

“And?” Hal’s voice was soft, gentle, the voice he used around the horses so they wouldn’t spook.

“And…” Trish swiped her hand across her eyes. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m scared.” She raised her gaze to meet her father’s. “Dad, I’m so scared.”

Hal reached over and closed his hand over hers. “Scared of what?”

“What if my arm doesn’t get better before the Santa Anita trip? What if I can’t race or even work Spitfire before then? He’ll be out of condition and won’t have a chance down there.”

“Anything else?”

“And you were so sick. I thought for sure you were going to die.” Tears brimmed over and ran down her cheeks.

“Trish, I didn’t even come close to dying.”

“But you were so weak.”

“Yeah, infection and lack of oxygen do that to me. I did a stupid thing, working on the generator in that cold. I should have listened to your mother and just bought a new one in the first place. I’m really sorry I put you all through the extra worry just because of my pride. Will you forgive me?”

Trish stared at him. “But it’s not your fault.”

“Trish, we aren’t responsible for the things that happen to us, but we
are
responsible for the way we react to them. Take, for instance, your broken arm. Now, that was an accident, right?”

“Well, I should’ve been paying closer attention.”

“Maybe. But we can
all
play the ‘shoulda’ game. It just doesn’t get us anywhere. Just like I ‘shoulda’ stayed out of the cold. You can’t change what has already happened.”

Trish felt like one of the weights had been lifted from her shoulders.

“Now, about your arm healing. Is there any reason why it shouldn’t heal?”

“No, I guess not.”

“Have you been praying about it?”

She chewed her lip. “Sorta.” She swallowed the word.

“Been a little bit mad at God, have you?”

“Well, if He won’t help us, can’t He at least just leave us alone?” The words spewed out, harsh and biting. “We pray and pray and still things go wrong. You’re sick, I’m broken, the ice storm, the…the…” She huddled back in the corner by the door, appalled at what she’d said.

“Oh, Trish, I know things have been bad. But look at all the good things. Remember that blank book I gave you? One of the good things about a journal is that you can go back and read what you felt in both good times and bad. Jesus never promised us there wouldn’t be any trouble, just that He’d carry us through it. I can’t even begin to comprehend how bad things could be or might have been without Him.”

Trish pointed to her casted arm. “I have enough trouble trying to keep up writing for school right now without adding another writing project.”

“True, for now. But think with me of some good things.”

Trish frowned. She licked her lips, stretched her neck. “Uh-h-h, the snow and ice are gone.”

“What else?”

“You’re better. But now it’s time for another treatment and you’ll be sick all over again.”

“Maybe. But not for long. Keep going.”

“I’m learning to be ambidextrous.” A grin tried to escape the corners of her mouth.

“True. Who knows when that could come in handy?”

“The eagle I gave you for Christmas.”

“True. That’s a symbol for all time.”

Trish drew in a breath that went all the way to her toes. “I’ve been pretty awful, haven’t I?”

“Let’s just say I’m glad this side of you doesn’t come out very often.”

Trish leaned her head back on the seat. “At least Mom hasn’t had to worry about my riding.”

“I think at this point she’d rather be worrying about your racing than your depression.”

“Really?”

“Really. And, Tee, talking things over always makes you feel better. You don’t have to carry the whole world by yourself.” He started the car. “Let’s go home for dinner.”

David met them after they’d parked the car in front of the house. “The mare foaled sometime while we were gone. A colt, a real strong one.”

“Come on, Trish. Let’s go see him.” Hal patted her hand. “And greet all your lonesome friends down at the barn.”

The colt was nursing when they approached the stall. His tiny brush of a tail flicked back and forth while his mother watched the visitors carefully.

“He has four white socks and a diamond between his eyes that doesn’t quite make a blaze. There’s another tiny diamond on his muzzle. Wait till you see his face.” David leaned on the door next to his father and Trish.

“So what do we name him?” Trish rested her chin on her forearm against the stall door. “Star Bright? Diamond Dan? Uh-m-mm.”

“How about Double Diamond?” Hal looked at them.

“I like that. Double Diamond to win. And the winner of this year’s Kentucky Derby is Double Diamond, bred and owned by Hal Evanston and ridden by Tricia Evanston.” Trish fell into the cadence of a race announcer.

“Sounds good.” David nodded. He slid open the bolt on the door and took a bucket of warm water in for the mare. “Easy, girl. You’ve done well.”

Trish visited with each of her head-tossing, nickering, and whuffling friends. Even Gatesby seemed glad to see her. He didn’t try once to take a nip. Spitfire draped his head over Trish’s good shoulder and closed his eyes in bliss as she scratched his cheek.

Miss Tee hung back until Trish opened the stall door and slipped inside. She extended a handful of grain, and after lipping that, the filly allowed Trish to cuddle her.

“She almost forgot me,” Trish moaned as they walked back up to the house. “Guess I better get down here every day.”

The countdown till cast-off day began when Trish had two weeks left to go. Every morning she marked another square off on the calendar. And each day she reviewed the cards on her wall. Her father’s latest addition was from Proverbs 17:22.
“A cheerful heart is good medicine.”

Trish reminded herself of that one when she felt the weights try to pile up on her shoulders again.

“Tomorrow, tomorrow, I’ll love you tomorrow,” Trish couldn’t stop singing. The cast would come off tomorrow. After the visit to the doctor’s office, she would be able to wear
real
clothes again. And take a shower. No more washing her hair in the sink.

The next morning in the doctor’s office, the buzzing of the saw sent shivers up and down her spine.
What if he slips and cuts my arm while cutting through the cast?

“Don’t worry, Trish. I haven’t cut off any arms yet,” the doctor said, reading her mind. He turned off the saw and separated the two pieces of the cast.

“Yuck!” Trish looked from the stark white arm up to her mother and back again. “It looks terrible!”

“Let’s get that X-rayed,” the doctor said, inspecting the incision. “Then we’ll see what happens next.”

Trish laid her arm on the X-ray table. She stared at the grungy line around her thumb and across her fingers where she hadn’t been able to scrub. She really had a scar too, right along the top of her forearm.

“Okay.” The technician pushed open the door. “Got some good ones. You can go back up to the doctor’s office and wait for him to read them.”

Trish slipped her arm back into the sling with Marge’s help. Visions of riding again filled her mind as they waited for the elevator to reach the right floor. And tomorrow she’d wear the new sweater she’d gotten for Christmas. And jeans.

“I’m sorry, Trish.” The doctor studied the X-ray. “We’re going to have to cast you again. That bone just isn’t strong enough yet to take a chance on it.”

Chapter

12

A
nother two weeks?”

“I’m sorry, Trish.” The doctor did look sorry. “But if you broke it again now, it would be a lot more than two weeks. We have to make sure that bone is healed properly.”

Trish gritted her teeth and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling to keep the tears from falling.
There goes the next race for Spitfire. That’s next week.
Despair clogged her mind.

“You said
at least.
Does that mean it could be longer?” Trish looked the doctor full in the face.

“Let’s hope not. I’ll put the cast back on today and we’ll schedule another appointment in two weeks.”

Trish brightened. “Can I ride anyway? If I’m careful?”

The doctor thought a moment, then shook his head. “You’d be taking a pretty big chance. Better wait. The two weeks will go by quickly.”

“I’m sorry, Trish,” Marge said on the way home. “I know how much you were counting on having the cast off.”

Trish let the tears run down her cheeks. She didn’t try to fight them back; she didn’t mop them up. It was just too much.

One look at her face when she walked through the door and Hal knew the verdict. He put both arms around her and asked over the top of her head, “How long?”

“Minimum of two weeks,” Marge answered for her.