Golden Filly Collection Two (26 page)

“Maybe I will.” A yawn cracked her jaw.

Marge copied the jaw cracking, then rose to her feet. She leaned over and kissed Trish on the cheek. “Good night, my dear. Always remember, God loves you and so do I.”

Trish wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck and clung. “Good night, Mom.”

When Trish awoke in the morning, she lay in her bed looking around her room in the early light. Her clothes all hung neatly in the closet; the racing posters she’d collected were on the walls, the framed pictures of her and Spitfire in the winner’s circles were there—it was her room. She stretched and yawned, then stretched her arms way over her head and twisted her body from side to side.

What was different? Besides being at home. She thought of the night she’d just slept through—no dreams, no nightmares, no lying awake thinking of failures. Just pure, peaceful rest. The verse flashed through her mind. “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you.” Was this what it meant?

She lay there, savoring the thought. She’d prayed for peace, hadn’t she? Or had she just begged for help? Was God really answering her prayers?

She threw the covers back and went to stand at the window. Sunshine, no clouds—in Vancouver, Washington? God must indeed be welcoming her home. All the pastures were green, not brown like the hillsides of California. She inhaled. The rosebushes under her window welcomed her with their fragrance.

Patrick’s whistled tune floated up on the breeze. She could hear her mother singing in the kitchen. Caesar barked at something off in the woods. All the sounds of home. Trish felt like a grin all over.

She glanced at the clock.
Six-thirty.
She’d really slept in. After pulling on jeans and a T-shirt, she grabbed her boots, stopped in the bathroom to brush her teeth and hair, and trotted into the kitchen.

“Thought maybe you’d sleep in.” Marge turned from the sink. “Breakfast will be ready about eight.”

Trish looked at the dough spread on the counter. “Cinnamon rolls?” Marge nodded. “Wow!” Trish gave her mother a two-armed hug and started from the room. She turned and backpedaled. “Hey, I’ve turned into a bagel connoisseur. We’ll have some when you come down to California.” She slid open the sliding glass door to the deck and plunked herself down on one of the cedar benches while she pulled on her boots.

All the fuchsia baskets dripped with flowers in shades of purple, pink, white, and red. She sat perfectly still as a hummingbird clicked his way past and dined on the hanging blossoms. Her father had loved the hummingbirds. Trish felt a catch in her throat. So often they’d sat together just like this to watch the flying jewels sipping at their flowers.

She had the distinct impression that if she could turn quickly enough, she would see him—her father smiling at her and walking beside her. The feeling persisted down at the barns when she checked each stall, and in the tack room where they’d so often cleaned gear. Patrick sat there now, right outside the door, soaping a bridle.

“Top o’ the morning, lass. You wouldn’t be looking for a mount now, would you?” He laid the bridle in his lap. “Dan’l would love a lap or two around the track, if you’ve a mind.”

“Thanks, but not today. I’m on vacation, remember?”

“That you are.” He watched as she inspected the office.

If she closed her eyes, she could see her father sitting in his chair. She opened them quickly. He was gone. She waited, waited for the crashing pain to leap through her again. Instead, she heard a tuneless whistle—or did she?

Caesar caught up with her when she visited the foaling stall. She scratched his ears while she waited in the empty box stall. Less than a year ago, on her birthday, they’d come home from dinner out and found Miss Tee’s dam in hard labor.

Trish wandered down the lane to the paddocks. Miss Tee and Double Diamond rushed up to see her, and Dan’l nickered for his turn to be scratched.

“Thank you, Father, thank you.” She rested her forehead against Dan’l’s warm neck. What words could she say? None were enough.

When she turned for the house, she waited a moment. Such a strange feeling, but such a good one. A metallic blue Mustang was parked in the drive. When she opened the front door, she could hear Brad and Rhonda bantering in the dining room.

Trish paused for another moment. Her father’s recliner looked like he’d just left it to go into another room. His Bible lay open on the lamp-stand beside it.

“I thought you had a show this weekend.” Trish rounded the corner and attacked her two friends.

“I do, I do.” Rhonda spun around and grabbed Trish around the waist. “We leave in an hour, but I couldn’t turn down your mom’s cinnamon rolls. Oh, Trish, I’m so glad you’re here!”

“even though you won’t be.” She turned to hug Brad, the tall fourth of their four musketeers. The four young people had been best friends since grade school. “Seems like forever since I’ve seen you guys.”

“Well, we haven’t been anywhere. How ya doing, kid?” Brad swung her off her feet. When he set her down, he cupped her face in his hands. “You’re better.” It was a statement, not a question.

How could they all tell? Was she wearing a sign or something?

“Come and eat!” Marge set a platter of scrambled eggs with bacon on one end of the table and one of cinnamon rolls at the other. “David, you say grace.” They all slid into their seats, Patrick where Hal used to sit, and held hands while David said the blessing.

When Trish looked up, a tiny barb of resentment for Patrick usurping her father’s chair dug at the edge of her mind. She cringed when she remembered the blow-up not so long ago. No, she told herself, no more. Again, there was that feeling that if she turned quickly enough she would see her father smiling and nodding at her. The peace stayed with her.

Trish took her first bite of homemade cinnamon roll and rolled her eyes in ecstasy. “Mom, no one bakes like you do. You should open a shop and sell these. You’d make a million in California.”

“As if I had any desire to move to California. Here, Brad, have some more. I know you have a big day ahead of you.” Marge passed the plate of rolls again.

“Why, what’s happening today?” Trish asked after a bite of scrambled eggs.

“Brad has a job,” Rhonda answered.

“Yeah, they laid me off at Runnin’ On Farm.” Brad waved his fork in the air. “So I had to go to work for my dad during the week. I run the stop-and-go signs on his road repair jobs, and on Saturdays I work at the cinema over at the mall. I get to see all the movies for free.”

“Two jobs?”

“Yeah, college costs money.”

“I thought you were going to Clark, and you got a scholarship.”

“I did and I am, but WSU is expensive so I’m saving ahead.” He reached for another cinnamon roll. “Trish is right, Mrs. E, you oughta go into business.”

Marge shook her head, her smile the kind that mothers give their harebrained kids’ ideas. “I have a business already. Remember, you worked for us. And will again when the racing string comes home, if you can fit us into your busy schedule.”

“Hey, that’s right. And this way you can make cinnamon rolls just for us.”

“And chocolate chip cookies and peanut butter cookies,” Trish and Rhonda said together.

“And I’ll be so far away, no one will bake for me.” David adopted a soulful look.

“Yeah, right!” Trish sent him a pretend glare. “Like you never got any care packages when you were at WSU.”

“Oh, that’s right.” He raised one finger in the air. “But I had to fight for my rights. Whenever a box came from home, every guy on my floor dropped in to visit. Had to hide the goodies under my bed.”

“Phew! Along with all the dirty socks and sweaty underwear. Yuk!”

“Okay, okay,” Marge said, laughing along with them. “I promise to bake—when I have time.”

“You didn’t want cookies anyway.” Trish got her last dig in. She looked over at Patrick and caught the telltale sheen in his eyes. He smiled back at her and winked. Was he a mind-reader like her father?

The day flew by like the view from a car traveling sixty miles an hour. Trish watched her mother work both Miss Tee and Double Diamond on the lunge line.

“You’ve taught them good manners,” she said as she helped her mother brush the filly down. “This baby seems so willing to learn, she’ll be easy to train.”

“Yes, I think so. And does she ever love to run.” Marge stopped her brushing. “You remember how much your father loved to work with the babies? He always said that was the fun part of training Thoroughbreds.”

“I know. He’d be so proud of you, Mom.”

“I know he is. Trish, I don’t think heaven is some faraway place. I think he knows what’s going on and—well, sometimes he seems so close.”

“I’ve felt it at home this time too. Like if I look around quick enough, he’ll be there.” Trish rolled her lips together. “Mom, I’m so glad to be home.”

They finished the filly and started on the colt. Trish tickled the colt’s nose so he twitched his whiskers. “You think Dad could be a guardian angel?”

“If there is any way to be one, I’m sure he would be.”

That evening the evanstons and Patrick adjourned to the living room after a steak dinner broiled to perfection on the barbecue and devoured out on the deck.

“That was so good, Mom. And, David, you’re a super chef, almost as good as Dad. I haven’t had home-cooked food since the last time I was here.”

“Don’t you eat with Adam and Martha?” Marge settled into her rocking chair.

“I’m never there at mealtime. Leave before breakfast, lunch at the track, and then grab something quick before class.” Trish shrugged. “It’s not their fault. Martha sometimes has a plate saved for me, but I hate to put her out. They’re so good to me anyway.”

“I know. That makes having you down there easier for me.” Marge leaned back in her chair. “How about we bring Trish up to date on the stuff we’ve been talking about. We’re going to have to make some decisions soon.”

“What stuff?”

Marge gave Patrick the nod. “You tell her.”

“We’ve been looking for some more horses, like the mare I saw yesterday. I think we should buy her. I saw her filly from last year. Looks real good. In fact, we could probably get the filly too. Anson pretty much wants to sell out. What with Longacres closing and the trouble at Portland Meadows, he says he’d just as soon get out now.”

“What trouble at the Meadows?” Trish interrupted as soon as he paused.

“You know, more of the same. One day the place is up for sale and the next they’re closing down.” David shook his head in disgust. “Why they can’t manage that place better, I’ll never know.”

Trish poked him in the ribs. “Maybe we oughta buy the track.”

Marge rubbed her chin with one finger. “I’ve thought about it.”

“What!” Trish and David stared at their mother and then each other.

“Your mother has some good ideas,” Patrick said. “You know she’s been the business manager for your father all these years with such a tight budget, now she—you all have to think and invest wisely.”

“Maybe I should be taking a business course instead of chemistry.” Trish slumped back, one ankle crossed over the other knee. She thought of the incredible amount of money sitting in her bank account. She hadn’t thought about investing it. She didn’t even have time to spend much of it.

“What if Adam and I see a good claimer? Should I go for it?” She looked from Patrick to her mother and back again. “Sarah’s Pride was a good deal.”

“We’ll think about it. We’ll probably go to the yearling sales this year too.”

Trish went to bed that night in a total state of shock. Her mother was not only not thinking of selling the farm, but she planned to expand. She stared at the pictures of the winner’s circles.
Oh, Dad, if only you were here to enjoy all this. You worked so hard for it, and now that your dream has come true, you’re missing out.

Trish woke in the morning to gray skies, but the gray couldn’t dim the wonder she felt. Another night without nightmares. She thought back to the discussion the night before. How exciting! She threw back the covers and bounded out of bed.

“Think I’ll take Dan’l for a ride,” she said as she entered the kitchen.

“I think that’ll be fine after church.” Her mother set her coffee cup down on the counter. “You going down to help the guys with chores?”