Golden Filly Collection Two (25 page)
Trish returned Martha’s hug and boarded the plane.
Halfway through the hour-and-a-half flight, something set her butterflies off. Her stomach felt like just before a major race. She thought about her time at home before coming to California. Eyes closed, she leaned her seat back and remembered. Would the pain be as bad? She thought of the accident she’d had with her new car and that last hurried trip to Kentucky. No matter what, her father would not be there.
She pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers and swallowed the scratchy lump in her throat. She leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes. But at least she would see the rest of her family, and Rhonda and Brad. She turned and drew her feet up onto the seat. Good thing she had a seat by herself.
Eventually she opened her eyes and stared out the window. Mount Hood, its snow covering slashed by granite faces after the summer melt, loomed below them to the left. Mount St. Helens glowed faintly in the haze to the north.
How would she get to the farm if no one was home?
Take a taxi, silly,
she told herself.
Or you could rent a car.
She shuffled along with the rest of the deplaning passengers. As she strode through the doors at the top of the ramp, the first thing she saw was her mother’s face. David stood just behind her.
Trish ran the last few yards and threw her arms around her mother. “You came! You came!”
“Oh, my dear Tee, you didn’t give us much notice.” Their tears ran together as mother and daughter clung to each other.
“I drove like a bat out of…” David sniffed along with the others.
Trish transferred her bear hug to her brother’s neck. “I’m just so glad you’re here. Feels like a year or two since I’ve been home.”
“Well, not quite that long.” David set her back on her feet. “You ever think of planning ahead?”
Trish shook her head. “Adam said I should take a break—Firefly nearly did—and get outta there. I didn’t argue too much. Oh, I’ve been so homesick!” She hugged her mother again.
“You got any more than this?” When Trish shook her head, David and Marge picked up the bags, and with Trish in the middle, the three headed for the parking lot.
Trish caught up on all the latest news on the drive across the I-205 bridge and through the small town of Orchards on the way to Runnin’ On Farm. Trish kept one eye on the scenery to see any changes, and her mind on the conversation.
“But wouldn’t it have been easier to go back to WSU?” she asked at one point when David was telling her about Tucson.
“Yeah, but after Dad and I talked to the people in Kentucky about the equine program in Tucson, that’s all I wanted to do. You have to admit I have some experience in doctoring horses by now.”
“So much for the small animal practice you talked about, huh?”
“I think caring for horses is in my blood. Since I’m too big to ride and you’ll want to do all the training eventually…”
“What about me?” Marge asked. “I’m getting better and better with the babies. You’ll see, Tee.”
“She is. Who’d ever dream that
our
mother would be down training Miss Tee and Double Diamond. And she’s good.”
“As you said, brother mine, must be in the blood.” Trish turned to grin at her mother. “I’m really proud of you.”
“Patrick’s talking about attending some of the sales after you get back. Like the yearling sale down at Santa Anita this fall.” Marge clasped her daughter’s hand. “What do you think?”
“You want to expand?” Trish could feel her chin hit her chest.
“I’m thinking about it. We have a lot of talking to do.”
Trish kept waiting for the pain to strike again. But it didn’t. Maybe riding in the new van helped since her father had never been in it.
When they turned into the drive of Runnin’ On Farm, Trish felt her heart leap. Caesar, the farm’s sable collie, met them halfway up the drive, dancing and barking his greeting.
Everything looked the same as usual. Pink, purple, and white petunias lined the sidewalk up to the front door and drifted down the sides of the two tall clay pots flanking either side of the steps. Lush rosebushes fronted the house, covered in blossoms of pink, yellow, and deep red, with all the shades in between.
Caesar planted both front feet on Trish’s shoulders as soon as she stepped out of the car. “Down, you goofy dog!” Trish grabbed his ruff with both hands, shaking and hugging him at the same time. “I think you missed me.”
Caesar whimpered, and did his best to make sure Trish’s face was cleaned of all traces of California.
“I want to go to the barns first, okay?”
“Why am I not surprised?” Marge locked arms with Trish. “Patrick is off looking at a mare we heard about. She’s in foal to Seattle Slew also. You know how much your father thought of that stud.”
Trish swallowed a gulp of surprise. Was this really
her
mother talking? “You might buy her?”
“We’re thinking about it. We have a lot to talk about, things that need discussing if Runnin’ On Farm is to be managed wisely.”
David poked Trish in the ribs and gave her an I-told-you-so grin. Trish poked him back.
“Wow, look at Patrick’s trailer…”
“Manufactured home,” David drawled out his bit of information. “They don’t call them trailers or mobile homes anymore.”
“Whatever. Looks like it’s been there forever.”
“I think he loves flowers and landscaping as much as he does horses. Says he has to have something to keep him busy while half the string is in California.” Marge stuck her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “The whole place looks good, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, you even painted the barns.”
“I did that,” David said. “Amazing what a little extra money can do, along with a lot of elbow grease. Brad helped me.”
“And me.” Marge grinned at her daughter. “I was the go-fer.” She grabbed Trish’s hand again. “Come on, see my babies.”
Marge whistled as they rounded the long, low row of stalls and headed down the lane to the pastures. The mares had returned from breeding and now grazed peacefully in the deep rich grass. Marge whistled again and the two youngsters in a paddock of their own thundered up to the fence.
“Oh, they’ve grown! Just think, Miss Tee is almost a year old.” The colt and filly pushed at each other to get to Marge’s offered carrot bits. When Trish extended her hand, the filly snuffled and lipped her fingers. “Oh, you sweetie, you’re just getting prettier and prettier. Look how red you are.” Trish rubbed up the filly’s cheek and behind her ears.
Marge entertained Double Diamond with the same kind of motions. Both the horses stood quietly, Miss Tee sniffing Trish’s arm, shoulder, and hair.
“Mom, you’ve sure calmed them down.” Trish kissed the filly on her soft nose. “See ya later, kid.” The babies followed along the fence line as the three strolled to the next paddock, with the dog that never moved an inch from Trish’s side.
“I enjoy the time with them. It’s like I’m closer to Hal this way. It’s funny, all those years I think I was a bit jealous of the time he spent with the horses and the way you kids idolized your father. And then I worried too, of course.”
“About everything you could think of and then some,” David said with a teasing grin.
Trish forced a smile on her face to match theirs. Her mother had changed so much; was she still the same person? “And you really don’t worry anymore?”
“I save it for the seventh Tuesday of the month.” Marge leaned her crossed arms on the mare’s paddock fence. “But really, Tee, I try to turn everything over to God immediately. And when the worries come back, I give them up again. I win most of the time.”
“Wow.” Trish shook her head. She stared out at the mares. Old gray Dan’l grazed with them. She rolled her bottom lip tightly over her teeth to whistle for him, but the quivering in her chin flubbed the effort. She scrubbed the back of her hand across her mouth and tried again. This time the high-low-high tone reached the horses’ ears.
While all the animals lifted their heads, the gray flung his up and stared toward the fence. Trish whistled again. Dan’l broke into a lope and charged to the fence, his mane and tail feathering in the breeze. He skidded to a halt, nickering and tossing his head. When he reached Trish, he nosed her face, blew, and whuffled all at the same time.
Trish buried her face in his mane. “Oh, Dan’l.” The old gelding had been her confidant and comforter for years. As she hugged the horse, she could feel her mother’s arm around her shoulder.
David handed her a handkerchief when she stepped back.
“Sorry.” She blew her nose and mopped her eyes.
“No, don’t be. I’m just so grateful you can cry now. That tough shield you put up kept us all apart. We couldn’t help you.” Marge turned and leaned against the fence. “Oh, Tee, I prayed so hard for this.”
“Yeah, I think she even worried about you, in spite of her good intentions.”
“Wash your mouth with soap.” Marge lightly punched her son on the arm. “Although I have to admit, sometimes the line between praying and worrying is mighty narrow.”
Dan’l leaned his head over Trish’s shoulder, settling in for a good scratching. Trish obliged, murmuring love words to him every once in a while.
“Don’t be afraid or ashamed of the tears, Trish. There’s a verse in the Old Testament that talks about God saving our tears in a bottle. That’s how important they are.”
“Well, He better have a mighty big bottle, the way I’ve been blubbering.” Trish gave Dan’l a last pat and pushed away from the fence. “Come on, I’m thirsty for a drink of real water. That stuff down there isn’t fit for drinking.” Dan’l nickered as they left. “Maybe I should take a jug back with me.”
Patrick clamped his hand to his heart when he walked into the house that evening. “Lord love ye, lass, what a sight for these poor old eyes.” Trish met him in the middle of the room and fell into his hug.
“Poor old eyes, my foot.” She sniffed—again—and stepped back to study him. “Patrick, you look wonderful. I think living in the rainy state agrees with you.”
“That it does, lass.” He studied her back. “Wisht I could say the same for you.”
“You don’t like my California tan?” Trish put her fingertips to her cheeks.
“Nay, it’s not the tan.” He nodded, squinting his eyes and clicking his tongue. “But I think you’ll be better now.”
“Better than what?”
“Just better, is all.”
The evening passed more easily than Trish had imagined. She caught herself laughing as David, the David she used to know and love, teased them all in turn. He kept digging at her when she tried to sidestep their questions, until she confessed all. Her loneliness, the constant falling asleep, the fears of never riding well again, never winning. She told them everything—except about the pills she still had in her purse.
Should she—could she—tell them that?
T
hey’d surely think California had turned her into a druggie.
Why hadn’t she just flushed the stupid things so she wouldn’t have to feel guilty about carrying them around? Maybe she’d do that later.
But she didn’t do it before she crawled into bed, her own bed, in her own room. Her wandering gaze stopped at the empty bulletin board above her desk where she and her father had pinned up three-by-five cards with Bible verses on them.
Why had she ripped them down and dumped them in the trash?
She pressed her knuckle against her teeth, trying to remember which verses had been up there. A knock on the door broke her concentration.
“Trish.” Her mother poked her head in. “Okay if I come in?”
“Sure.” Trish shifted over in the bed so there was room for her mother to sit. “What’s up?”
Marge sat down on the edge of the bed and turned so she could look at Trish. “I just want to tell you how happy I am to have you home. You have no idea how I’ve missed you.”
“Yeah, I know. Only I think I didn’t figure out what part of my problem was until last week. Then when I admitted I was homesick, I couldn’t get it out of my mind.”
“You know something else?”
“What?”
“You’re
you
again, not that angry person who was ready to tear anybody and everybody limb from limb.” Marge brushed a tendril of hair back from Trish’s cheek.
“Was I that bad?”
“Uh-huh. I know you think I’m crazy, but when I see you cry…”
“You cry too.”
“I know, but some of those are tears of gratitude. I think I’m walking by sight now, not just faith, faith that you’re getting better.”
Trish thought of the pills in her purse. “Mom, I…” A silence invaded the room.
“What?”
“Ah, nothing. Just sometimes I feel like a yo-yo, and whoever’s pulling the string isn’t very good at it.”
Marge smiled. “That’s a pretty good description.”
The silence stretched again.
“Are you so tired all the time you can hardly stay awake?” Trish asked.
“I was. That’s part of the grieving. Takes a lot of energy. I slept a lot. Prayed a lot. Cried a lot. No particular order.” Marge clasped her hands around one raised knee. “And I talked with Pastor Mort. He gave me Bible verses that helped. You might want to try that while you’re home.”