A Secret Refuge [02] Sisters of the Confederacy (22 page)

“When will our wagons be ready?”

“Tomorrow or de next day.”

“I heard another train is pullin’ out in the mornin’.”

“Yes, suh. Where you get de oxen?”

“I talked with a man today. He has nine, but not all are trained yet.”

“Buyin’ all nine?”

“Depends on the purse.”

Before she fell asleep that night, Jesselynn wandered out to where Daniel had put Ahab to grazing on a long line. She leaned against the stallion’s shoulder and stroked his neck on up to rub his ears. Ahab lowered his head and sighed, leaning into the ministering fingers.

“You want to run tomorrow, old son?” She ran her fingers through his mane, snagging on a burr. “Daddy would die again if he saw how bad you look.” The mane and tail hadn’t been combed since they left Twin Oaks, and a brush was used only on the places the harness or saddle might rub. She thought of the racing saddle tucked away in the trunk, underneath the two dresses she had brought along. She almost hadn’t put it in.

She rubbed the stallion’s nose and wandered back to camp. The men had insisted she not take a turn at watch tonight so she would be fresh for the race. Daniel and Benjamin both wore grins that clearly showed their excitement. Even Thaddeus caught the feeling, though no one told him they would be racing Ahab.

“You go to sleep now like a good boy.” Jane Ellen’s voice wore that patient tone that said she was repeating herself.

Jesselynn reached in the wagon for her bedroll and gave her little brother a poke. Giggles erupted, and Thaddeus rolled over to grab her hand.

“Kiss, Jesse.”

Jesselynn kissed his cheek and stroked back his curly hair. If only his father could see him now. He would be so proud. She laid out her bedroll and glanced heavenward. “Daddy, if’n you’re watchin’, please do all you can to make sure we win that race tomorrow. Might be the most important race Ahab ever ran.”

While she kept her voice to a whisper, she lay back on her bedroll and studied the stars, stars they’d be following west. Good thing the Lord said He’d guide their steps. She hoped and prayed that included both racing and westering the miles.

“Now, you understand the rules?”

Jesselynn nodded. While she wore her stirrups shorter than usual, she tried to look like any normal rider, not a jockey.

“He’s mighty light compared to Erskin there.” One of the spectators hawked and spit, then squinted up at Jesselynn. “Might make a big difference.”

“Erskin been at this long enough. He knows what that black can do.”

Jesselynn fought to keep her concentration on the race, not on the gaping group of humanity that looked like bathing might be against their religion. At the Keeneland Track, where her father raced his Thoroughbreds, the crowd dressed for the day as a social event. Hats were
de rigueur,
and the loveliest of gowns the custom. Not the morass of pressing, stinking men who crowded Ahab, making him lay his ears back. He looked ready to bite the next man who came near.

“Hey, boy, you ready?” The owner and rider of the black spat off to the side of his horse. Did everyone chew tobacco here?

“Anytime, sir.” She touched a finger to the brim of her slouch hat. The porkpie had a habit of blowing off in a stiff wind, and she planned on a stiff wind from release to the finish line.

The man in charge pointed to a man waving a red flag and waiting better than a quarter mile away. “You start there when he says, and the first one across this line is the winner. There’ll be no striking a horse but your own, no jostling, bumping, or cutting off the other horse. I want a clean race. You hear?”

Jesselynn nodded, having a feeling that experience had necessitated the rules. She glanced at Erskin, who wore a smirk fit to rile the staunchest peacemaker. Wishing she had watched more races to see what kind of shenanigans he pulled, she glanced around the crowd to see Aunt Agatha sitting up in her rocking chair in the wagon bed, knitting away just as if she were back in camp. She caught Jesselynn’s eye and winked.

Jesselynn acted as if she didn’t know her, but the wink warmed her insides. She wished the race were longer. Lots of horses could go the short distance, but it was in the longer races where the Thoroughbreds excelled.

“Hey, Erskin, you not gonna let a young pup like that beat ya, are you?”

“Just put your money down, and let’s get on with this. I got work to do.”

At that, half the crowd burst into guffaws. Erskin was well known, obviously.

“Okay, now, easy canter up to the starter. Everyone stand back, clear the track.”

Jesselynn glanced down. The mud had dried, but
the track
, as he so euphemistically called it, looked hard as a brick, none of the sand and well-dug surface of a real race track. She did as the man ordered and set Ahab at an easy canter to where they would start.

“Where’d you get that horse, boy?” Erskin pulled up beside her.

“Family horse. Just likes to run. Pulls a good plow too.” She leaned forward slightly to stroke Ahab’s neck. Not that he’d ever been hitched to a plow, but Erskin wouldn’t know that.

“You ever raced ‘im before?”

“Me? No. Daddy just thought it might be a fun idea.” This at least was no lie. She herself had never ridden Ahab at the track in a real race. She had trained him at home. And her daddy, why, he had thought racing Thoroughbreds one of the chief delights of this life.

He’d be heartbroken to see his pride and joy in the condition he was in.

They reached the starter, who looked about as reputable as the man at the other end. “Y’all ready?” he asked.

Jesselynn wished she had goggles but only nodded after settling herself deeper in the saddle. Ahab shifted from one front foot to the other. “Easy, son.”

The man pointed his pistol in the air, paused, and the shot rang out. Ahab leaped as if from a starting gate, but before he hit his stride, the black was three lengths ahead and extending his lead.

“Go, Ahab!” Jesselynn crouched over his withers, making herself as small as possible, urging him on with hands and reins.

They lost by a length, but toward the end they were gaining. If only they’d had more track to cover.

Ahab was blowing hard when she pulled him to a canter, then a trot, and turned back to where Erskin stood, accepting the congratulations of the crowd—and the purse.

“Sorry, boy. Someone shoulda warned ya.” He turned and slapped his horse’s shoulder. “Yes, sir, this old boy can run.”

Losing the twenty-dollar gold piece she’d had to put up galled her hide. Losing the race made her see shades of red—bright red. “That he can.” She forced the chosen words past teeth clamped together to keep the flood inside. The flood attacked her instead. Calling herself all kinds of names, none of them complimentary, she led Ahab off to walk him around and cool him down.

How stupid to think she could win so easily. Sure, let the other horse catch up and push ahead at the last moment. What was she thinking of?

She stayed away from Aunt Agatha and the wagon.

Leading his horse, Erskin caught up with her. “No bad feelings now, are there? After all, your horse there has a good heart. He didn’t quit on ya.”

Jesselynn just nodded and kept on walking.

“Tell ya what I’ll do. How about you meet me back here again tomorrow morning, same time, and I’ll let ya see if you can win yer money back? How’s that?”

“You mean no money up front?”

“Right, that’s what I mean. Outa the goodness of my heart.” He clapped one hand on his chest, even though it was on the wrong side.

“So, what’s the catch?” Jesselynn stopped walking and faced him square on.

“No catch. Just that if I win, I keep both horses. You win, you get ’em both—and the purse.”

She kept her mouth closed and her eyes from widening through supreme willpower. All her mother’s training on good manners and deportment came to the fore. She eyed the man, rock steady. “On one condition.”
Oh, Lord, am I being a fool? Or am I just being my daddy’s girl? Zachary wouldn’t even hesitate. But I’ve got all these people to think of
. She sighed. That’s what she was thinking of—getting her people to Oregon.

She shook her head, turned away. The stakes were too high.

“I’ll throw in an extra hunnerd dollars.”

He thinks he’s got us whupped and down
. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“We double the length of the track.”

He studied her through squinted eyes, looked up at the cotton-bole clouds and back at her. “Done.”

While she hesitated to shake his dirt-engraved hand, she knew that gentlemen did so. Not that he was a gentleman, more like a conniving lowlife, but the race was set. She mounted Ahab. “Tomorrow then.” And rode off.

She headed up the river in order to fool anyone following her, and when she was certain no one was on her trail, she angled back for their camp. As soon as Aunt Agatha arrived, Jesselynn unhitched Chess, saddled him, and cantered back to town, leaving instructions for Daniel and Jane Ellen on caring for Ahab.

Aunt Agatha had only shaken her head. She’d heard the buzz before she left the crowd.

Jesselynn put money down on the oxen, rode by to check on the wagons, which were promised for the morning, stopped at Robinson’s store to finish ordering the supplies, including another oak water barrel, and listened again to the excuses from the ironmonger.

“But, Jehosaphat, he come up de river, say my barge be here tomorrow. Dey got stuck on a sandbar, but all right now.”

She nodded and left. At least they hadn’t thrown the boxes of shoes overboard.

If she kept busy enough, she couldn’t think about the morning.

But back at camp, Daniel and Benjamin didn’t even try to hide their fear—or was it sorrow? Meshach shook his head and returned to his Bible reading before it got too dark to decipher the pages. She didn’t dare ask what the Good Book had to say about gambling—if anything.

“We’re going to win,” she promised the stars from her bedroll.

Ahab pranced in the coolness of the early morning and ate his oats with ears pricked forward as if he knew what was coming. When Jesselynn lifted his front foot to pick the dirt out, he turned his head to nudge her seat, nearly sending her flying flat out.

“Ahab! Whatever is the matter with you?”

“He like dat racin’ again.” Meshach started to brush off the mud crusted on the horse’s shoulder, then stopped. “One day we get to brush and polish this old son till him look like the granddaddy Thoroughbred he be.”

“Did you pray for us to win?”

“Hmm.” He nodded. “But more I pray for God to keep you both safe and for us all to get on de road before trouble happen. Just do yo’ best. That all you can do.”

Jesselynn nodded. Earlier that morning she had decided that none of them would place a bet. Winning the purse would be enough.

They hitched up the wagon and, with Aunt Agatha stitching away in her rocking throne, headed for town. Once she dropped Benjamin and Meshach off at Jenkins, Aunt Agatha would drive the wagon herself over to watch the race. Jesselynn made a detour and came toward the racing ground by another direction. When they won, everyone would be on the lookout for her and her horse. Keeping the camp safe was more important than anything.

The crowd was double the size of the day before, and the man with the slate was doing a brisk business. Erskin and his black were the center of an admiring group; a silver flask along with a long-necked bottle made the rounds, upping the hilarity that greeted every joke and sally.

“Come on over, boy, have a tote.” Erskin waved to Jesselynn.

She shook her head but smiled to show she wasn’t being uppity.

Suddenly she felt like throwing up. Right there in front of everyone. Right now! She wanted to call the whole thing off, but Erskin had signaled the time had come to mount up. Too late. Whether she felt relief or fear, she didn’t know.

She sucked in a deep breath, held it, and nudged Ahab forward toward the starter, who was just a speck but for his red flag. Red flag, pistol shot, race. In that order.

All right, calm down. This is just a race like any other, and this time the distance is on our side.

But how do you know the black can’t run distance too? And you can lose Ahab!

That was one of those thoughts she’d been refusing to acknowledge. She didn’t know. But she would soon find out.

She squeezed Ahab into a canter and could feel him arch his back to take an extra jump or two—sheer energy. As her daddy always said,
“Poetry in motion. That’s a good runnin’ horse.”

“Well, Daddy, today our poetry had better sing loud and clear.” She swept by the starter with a nod and turned in a gentle half circle to bring Ahab back to the starting line. Erskin trotted up and, with a tip of his head, took his place between her and the starter.

“Now, remember, if’n either of you start before the gun, you get one more chance, and after that it’s a forfeit.”

“You didn’t mention that yesterday.”

“What’s that you say?” The man cupped his ear to hear better, the red flag dangling behind him.

Jesselynn shook her head to signify it didn’t matter. Ahab settled on his haunches and stopped the restless shifting. Ready, like an arrow to be released from a bow.

“Ready.”

The black jumped forward, eliciting a curse from his rider. Erskin rode him in a circle and came up from behind.

While he performed his move, Jesselynn stroked Ahab’s neck. “That’s all right, old son, you be ready now. He’ll get off faster than we do, but we’ll catch him flyin’.” Looking neither to the right nor to the left, she concentrated on the gap between Ahab’s pricked ears.

The shot! The leap! And they were pounding the dust one length behind the black. Jesselynn crouched forward. “Okay, now, let’s get up about his stirrup.” She loosened the reins, and Ahab leaped forward as if she’d been holding him back. They came up even with the black’s streaming tail, then with his haunches, and then even with the stirrups.

Erskin went to the whip, and the black surged forward.

Wind sang in her ears, hooves thudded, and Ahab grunted as he pulled up head to neck.

Erskin beat the black, both on rump and shoulders, screaming at him for more.

Ahab surged by him, still picking up speed, and crossed the finish line with half a length to spare.