Читать книгу Jockey Girl - Shelley Peterson - Страница 6

The Caledon Horse Race

“Riders up!”

Evangeline Gibb swallowed hard. We shouldn’t be here, she thought. If her father had any idea.…

Today was the eleventh of June, the day of the Caledon Horse Race. The biggest event in town. It’d seemed like it would never arrive. But here it was, with a bright blue sky and a slight breeze sent from above to relieve the climbing temperature.

Evie took the reins in her left hand and prepared to mount the nervous black horse she’d renamed Kazzam. He was the smallest horse entered — at fifteen hands, barely taller than a pony — but he was fit and muscled and ready to run.

Kazzam pawed the ground and shook his head. He flattened his ears and pranced with anticipation, then shook his silky, short black mane impatiently. Every time she almost got her foot in the stirrup he moved away. “Settle down, Mister Racehorse,” she cooed as she scratched his withers and again tried to climb on, again without success. “You’re making me look stupid.”

Kazzam stopped skittering for a split second and Evie seized the opportunity. She slipped her left boot into the stirrup and scrambled up into the saddle with speed, if not grace. “Thanks for your help,” she muttered.

Evie sat as quietly as she could, waiting for Kazzam, and for herself, to calm down. His body trembled underneath her as she stroked his neck. “You’re the fastest horse here and we’re going to prove it.” Electricity coursed through his tensed muscles and into her hands and legs.

All around them, fired-up horses snorted and jigged and jogged. Riders in multicoloured shirts controlled their mounts with grim faces, shouting out competitive jibes to one another. Evie tried to keep her distance, at least out of kicking range. She wondered if this was what it was like to be in the eye of a storm. She shivered in spite of the heat.

Folks had travelled for miles to cheer for their favour-ites, and the old wooden stands were packed with chattering people in bright summer clothes. The air virtually vibrated with noise and suspense.

Evie had drawn slot seven. There’d been fourteen riders lined up at the registration desk to enter, and she was the only female. And at sixteen, the youngest by five or ten years.

This is such a bad idea. If her father found out what she was doing, he’d skin her alive. But ... the prize money. One thousand dollars plus ten percent of the purse. It could add up to a lot of money. Money that Evie needed to find her mother.

At the thought, a tingle of excitement travelled up her arms and ended with a ping in her chest. Her mother. Angela. She might be alive, after all.

Evie tightened her legs as Kazzam reared, lifting both front hooves high off the ground. She reached forward and stroked his gleaming black neck. She loved how the sunlight made his coat look almost purple. “Take it easy, boy. It won’t be long.”

She sure hoped that was true. Horses and riders were gathered at the starting gate, and everyone, human and equine alike, was getting tenser by the second. If she was going to follow through with her plan and not lose her nerve, this race had better start soon.

“Daddy buy you a pony, little girl?”

Evie looked up to see a smirking man on a tall, tucked-up Thoroughbred. He looked like a professional jockey in his red-and-purple racing silks with matching cap and saddle cloth. She glanced around. Is he talking to me?

“Yes, you, freckle-face red ponytail.” He laughed a forced hahaha, and checked with the man beside him.

His friend was riding a horse that could have been a twin to his own. This man wore blue-and-green silks. “Hey!” he guffawed. “Get a look at the headgear on baby’s pony!”

Evie had customized Kazzam’s bridle with a face guard to hide his distinctive, heart-shaped white star, and she’d done a half-decent sewing job. Kazzam liked it just fine.

“The kiddie race was last week!” the man in blue and green continued, as though he hadn’t made his point.

Evie thought she should respond. “Nice horses.” She didn’t add, I hope they like looking at my horse’s butt.

A third man, clad in bright yellow, trotted over to join his friends. It seemed he had news. “There’s a registration problem.”

Evie blushed and pretended not to listen. She hoped that the problem had nothing to do with her fake name or her “borrowed” horse.

“Crap.” The man wearing red-and-purple silks frowned. “This horse is ready to run.”

“How’s the betting?” blue-and-green asked.

“Flying Pan’s the odds-on favourite.”

Blue-and-green scoffed. “Out of the Flying Pan into the fire?”

Purple-and-red laughed his hahaha and said, “He’ll be back in the dust with pony-girl here.” He gestured at Evie dismissively. The three men snickered.

Evie lifted an eyebrow slightly. They didn’t know anything and were about to find out.

In the last couple of minutes the crowd had become restless. One section started stamping in unison. Evie was worried. If the race was delayed much longer, there’d be trouble.

The public-address system abruptly transmitted high-pitched feedback at full volume, startling the horses. Red-and-purple’s horse bucked and the man was tossed off. He landed on his feet, but when he finally managed to remount the terrified horse, he whipped him hard.

Evie didn’t like that at all. This beating was totally unproductive. If you don’t react within a couple of seconds, a horse has no idea what he did wrong. Now his beautiful Thoroughbred was confused and rattled.

Under her breath she said, “Daddy buy you a new one,” in the same condescending tone that he’d used earlier to her.

“Eat my dust, kid!” Red-and-purple seethed.

Evie had not meant him to hear her, and was frightened by the intensity of the man’s anger. She moved farther away and frowned: this could escalate into something bad. She was saved by yet another screech from the loudspeakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” blared the speakers. “The tenth annual Caledon Horse Race is about to begin!”

The stands rumbled as people jumped to their feet. Applause exploded, resonating like thunder. It looked to Evie as though a thousand colourful ants were swarming all over the wooden seats. Maybe the heat was getting to her. Or maybe the adrenalin. She hoped the latter.

“Riders, bring your horses to the post.”

Evie couldn’t breathe, but there was no turning back now. With a slight squeeze of her calves, she asked Kazzam to move forward. Step by step they walked to their slot in the seventh stall. Once in, the rear door shut behind them with a metallic click like a popgun.

Evie’s heart thudded loudly in her ears, deafening her. The daylight was suddenly way too bright, and her muscles felt limp. Time stretched like warm toffee. Was she about to die of a heart attack? Was that even possible at sixteen?

Some of the other riders were having trouble getting their mounts into their posts, but Kazzam stood still, waiting for his gate to open.

Evie hugged his neck. She closed her eyes and quietly whispered a little prayer. “Dear Lord of creatures great and small, please please please help Kazzam run fast today. Give his feet wings, and if he wins I promise to be good for the rest of my life. Amen.” Kazzam flicked his delicately pointed ears and nickered as if he understood.

Evie opened her eyes. Somewhere down the blurred row of horses on her right, the rear door clanked shut behind the last horse.

The bell rang and the gates flew open. “And they’re off!”

Kazzam didn’t move.

Evie watched thirteen horses surge out of the starting gate and tear down the track in a dense cloud of dust.

It was a spectacular sight.

Evie waited. She desperately longed to urge him to run, but knew well the fate of the jockeys who’d kicked him on.

Three long seconds later, Kazzam jolted forward in a giant leap that lifted Evie up into the air with only his mane in her hands. With a huge effort and a whole lot of luck, she landed in the saddle and held on to the racing animal like a scared monkey. Her stirrups were lost and the reins were out of reach. Her helmet had slipped over her eyes. It was impossible to see anything except the ground beneath her, and it was moving awfully fast.

Kazzam thundered on. Evie bent her head down and used his neck to push her helmet back so she could see. Dust. Dust was all she could see. Don’t panic, she told herself. Kazzam knows where his feet go. Seconds passed before a solid form emerged from the hazy cloud ahead. The rump of a horse.

They were catching up rapidly, but her legs were tiring just as fast. She needed the stirrups. Even one would help. She felt for the left one blindly with her foot as Kazzam sped past the horse running last and came up on the outside of another. Bingo! The left stirrup. She cast about on her right side, located the other, and slid in her boot. Still no reins, but things were much improved.

Kazzam ran smoothly. He felt eager as they passed three more horses on the outside. But there was trouble just ahead — a traffic jam with half a dozen animals running as a herd, tight to the inside of the track. She needed reins to get around them.

She grabbed his mane with her right fist and crept her left hand farther and farther up his mane all the way to his ears until she was finally able to clutch the flapping reins. She forced herself to breathe. Steady on. Now she was ready to ride.

Evie and Kazzam veered to the outside of the group. She felt him accelerate as they sailed past, down the stretch. She smiled and almost laughed out loud. She loved his crazy power! But Kazzam had more speed in him yet.

They were closing the distance to the two frontrunners. Kazzam moved inside and Evie looked for an opening. Kazzam began to crowd the horses from behind to create a space for himself, but Evie second-guessed him. She pulled him back to go around. Just as Kazzam slowed, three from the group they’d just passed galloped by on their right and overtook them all.

Evie could feel the tension explode in Kazzam’s body.

His ears flattened. Jamming her heels down in case of a buck, she let the reins go slack, crouched forward on his back and kept still. As soon as she gave him his head, Kazzam circled wide around the former leaders on the outside and then made a charge to catch the three horses that had just passed. The wind of their speed forced tears down Evie’s cheeks as they narrowed the gap. She sat as small as she could and let her horse run. The rumps of the three ahead got bigger and bigger. Through the dust she noticed the silks. Purple and red, blue and green, and bright yellow. Her tormentors were running as a team, three abreast.

Her horse was flying. Evie couldn’t fathom how fast. This was the speed she’d been waiting for. She was riding an avalanche! A tsunami! A runaway train!

Time slowed in her imagination. It seemed as though the purple-and-red and blue-and-green and yellow silks on her left were running on the spot. They disappeared behind her. The three perfect Os of the surprised men’s gaping mouths became imprinted in her mind as she looked ahead at clear track. Kazzam was the one making dust now.

The little horse’s strides got longer and longer. His neck stretched further and further. The only noise Evie heard was Kazzam’s steady breathing in rhythm with his front hooves as they hit the track. She felt lighter than air as they passed the finish line riding dead centre down the middle of the empty track.

“Whoa, boy.” Evie pulled on his reins. On he galloped. Kazzam wasn’t finished his race. “Steady, boy!” She wondered how much more he had to prove.

Evie looked back to see the second, third, and fourth horses finish together. They were far behind. She guessed that Kazzam had won by ten horse-lengths. Maybe more.

Kazzam began to listen to Evie as they got to the turn. He slowed a little and then slowed some more, but he was so fit and keen that he threw a happy buck up in the air. Evie laughed and crowed. “We did it, Kazzam! We won!” She stood up in the stirrups and shot a fist into the air.

They trotted back to the finish line, waving to the cheering crowds. She’d never felt so good. All these people were witnesses to Kazzam’s upset victory. You respect this tough little horse now, she thought. And you think I’m worth something, too. Evie took a mental snapshot of the moment so she could remember it for the rest of her life.

Her elation was cut short by a group of people who came running onto the track with cameras. They motioned eagerly for her to come closer.

Evie hadn’t expected this. She thought fast. She’d love to disappear into thin air but had no choice if she wanted to get the prize money. She pasted a big smile on her face and hoped the dust and streaks of sweat and tears would disguise her face. She trotted Kazzam over and let them snap away.

“How long have you been riding?” asked a young-looking unshaven man, who she assumed was a reporter.

Before she could answer, several others crowded around. “Is this your horse?”

“Who’s your trainer?”

“What’s Kazzam’s breeding?”

“Is this your first race?”

“Where do you live?”

Evie was tongue-tied. She had no idea how to answer the questions without giving away her identity and getting herself in big trouble.

With perfect timing once again, the speakers blared.

“Attention, folks! We have a winner. Young Molly Peebles riding Kazzam. They won by a record eight lengths!”

The crowd erupted again into cheers and hoots and stamping feet. Evie thought they’d won by more, but she wasn’t about to complain.

“She’s the youngest person to win in the ten years we’ve held the race. Molly takes away one thousand dollars in prize money, plus five hundred and eighty dollars as her share of the purse! She’s a lucky, lucky girl!”

A stout man in a Homburg hat stepped forward. He wore old-fashioned English country clothes with a plaid vest. Evie imagined that he thought it hid his fat belly. He waved a large white envelope high in the air and turned around to show it to the crowd in the stands.

The announcer introduced him, bellowing over the sound system, “Cast your eyes over to the track, folks. You’ll recognize Murray Planno, our esteemed judge — he’s a racing steward at Woodbine Race Track. He’ll now present our winner with the prize money.”

Murray Planno took his cue. He pivoted on his heel and handed Evie the envelope with a grand flourish. “Well done, Molly Peebles. The little lady on the little black horse!” he said loudly. “Nicely done!”

Evie continued to smile broadly. She accepted the envelope and nodded her thanks, while her eyes searched for the best way to get out of the park, away from all the questions. She spotted an opening.

“Molly!” called a photographer. “I need one with you holding the envelope!”

“Molly!” called another. “I’d like to get your story for the Orangeville Banner !”

“Molly!”

“Molly!”

“Molly!”

They were closing in.

Evie stuffed the big envelope into her waistband. She cupped an ear with one hand and shook her head, pretending she couldn’t hear their questions over the din of the crowd. “Let’s go, Kazzam,” she whispered, and squeezed her calves together with purpose.

Kazzam leaped forward into a canter. Evie guided him toward the stands, waving and mouthing thank-yous to the appreciative audience. She and Kazzam had given them a show and now the show was over. Almost.

She pulled on Kazzam’s reins and sat back, asking the horse to rear straight up in the air. He did, and she held him in the pose for as long as he was steady, and then released the pressure so he’d drop his front feet to the ground. As soon as his hooves touched down, he galloped through the hole in the crowd, past the entrance gates, and directly toward the gravel road behind the stands.

Exit, stage right.