Gabriel's Horses (4 page)

Then, for a blink, the horses are lined up even, and the Jockey Club president taps the drum. Tenpenny leaps forward with the others. Jackson reins him sharply to the middle of the track before taking hold and easing the colt to a slow gallop. There are two miles in this first heat, and he doesn't want Tenpenny to give out early.

As the horses make their way down the backstretch, they bunch tight, except for Famous Tom, who takes the lead. “In the first heat, the horse needs to run a mile in a little under two minutes,” Pa explains. He's got his watch in his hand to keep time. “Anything faster, he'll burn out. Slower, he won't make the distance.”

“What's the distance?”

“See that flag yonder?” He points to a white flag sticking up on the rail about forty feet before the finish line. “When the lead horse crosses the finish line in this first heat, any horses that haven't reached that flag are eliminated. That keeps riders from pulling a Sweeny.”

I give Pa a blank look and he explains, “A Sweeny is when a rider holds his horse back in the first heat, trying to save energy for the next heat.”

Suddenly, all the horses disappear from sight. “Dangerous spot there,” Pa says. “Even the judges can't see. Jockeys could be whipping each other—or worse.”

I gnaw my lip, wondering what “worse” could mean. I spot Master Giles high in the grandstand, his field glasses trained on the dip. Behind him are ladies wearing flower-covered hats like they have gardens growing on their heads. The ladies clap excitedly, and I turn to see the horses barreling toward us down the homestretch.

Tenpenny's in the middle. As he canters past, Pa yells for Jackson to keep a hold until the last turn. I watch the colt gallop around the bend. His neck's arched, so I know he ain't weary yet.

Before I know it, they're racing down the homestretch again. This time, the horses are sprawled out. Tenpenny's third in line with Blue Belle right beside him. Both look winded yet strong. Famous Tom crosses first, but just like Pa predicted, the saddle slips and the jockey pitches sideways. Lilith is second. As they cross the finish line, Levi yanks the reins. But he can't slow the mare, and two grooms dash off after them. Blue Belle comes in third, beating Penny by a nose. Jersey Gent and Virgil canter up last. Virgil's so far behind, he won't make the distance, and Jersey Gent's favoring his right leg. The first heat is over.

“Those two look done for. What in thunder!” Pa says suddenly, and he leaps over the rail onto the track.

Jackson's bent over Tenpenny's withers, clasping his right elbow. He's dropped the reins, and Tenpenny's walking free. “Gabriel,” Pa calls over his shoulder as he hurries toward them. “Come quick.”

I clamber over the fence and run to grab the colt's dangling reins.

Jackson grimaces as Pa helps him dismount. “Believe my arm's broke.”

“How?” Pa asks.

“Famous Tom's jockey had a stick hidden up his sleeve. When we raced into that dip, he whacked at Penny's head. I reached out to keep him from hitting the horse and he got
me
instead.”

Even I know what that means. “Pa, that's a foul.”

Jackson shakes his head. “Not if the judges didn't see it, Gabriel. That jockey can claim I hit him first.”

“What are you going to do?” I loosen Tenpenny's girth and, leading the puffing colt, follow Pa and Jackson from the track.

Pa shrugs. “Ain't no way Jackson can ride with a busted arm, Gabriel.”

“But we came all this way to race,” I protest. Worried, I glance up at the grandstand. Master Giles is staring down at us with a puzzled frown. Then I look behind me at the Union soldiers, remembering how they bet all their money and goods. “Folks are counting on Penny to win!”

“Then I reckon there's only one thing to do.” Using his good arm, Jackson takes off his cap and sets it on my head. “
You
going to have to ride this colt to victory, Gabriel.”

M
-m-me?” I stutter. “I ain't never rode a race before!”

“Then it's time,” Jackson says. “You ride as good as any boy here.”

“
Pa
,” I protest, knowing he'll set Jackson straight. “Tell him I can't—”

But Pa's nodding in agreement with Jackson. “It's settled. You're the colt's jockey for the next heat, Gabriel, but that don't meant you ain't still his groom. We got thirty minutes to get him cooled and ready.”

Taking the reins from me, he leads Tenpenny toward the barn. I stand frozen. Horses, riders, and bettors jostle past, but I'm barely aware of them.

Jackson bumps me on the arm. “Ain't any harder than exercising Penny around Mister Giles's field. 'Sides, ain't you the one always crowing about being a winning jockey? This here's your chance.” He grimaces in pain. “Now I best find the blacksmith and see if he can do up this arm. You come with me. You'll need my silks.” Before I can answer, he strides off, his elbow cocked awkwardly.

I knock myself on the forehead, wondering if I'm dreaming. Sure I want to jockey one day,
but I ain't ready today
!

Forcing my heavy feet to move, I start after Jackson. I find him by the blacksmith's fire. The burly smith is scratching his whiskered chin and studying Jackson's arm. Together, we help Jackson take off his shirt and boots, and I put them on. My bare feet slip around in the boots; my hands almost disappear in the long shirtsleeves.

“They'll have to do,” Jackson says. “Now go help your Pa with Penny. My arm's broke, but that don't mean the colt can't win this race.”

“But Jackson, how do I ride him? How do I pace him so he ain't too tuckered to win?”

Jackson winces as the blacksmith binds his arm. “Just listen to the horse, Gabriel,” he says between clenched teeth. “Listen to Penny. He'll tell you how to set the pace.”

I back away, frustrated. That's
no
kind of help. Turning, I run back to the barn. The sleeves of his shirt flap like wings, and I trip over the too-big boots.

Pa's wiping down Tenpenny with the water I had warming on the fire. Master Giles stands near, a concerned expression on his face. When he sees me in the baggy silks, he furrows his brow.

“Isaac, do you have any idea what you're doing?” Master asks Pa.

Pa doesn't even look at him. “You know the boy can ride, sir. You know he's got the gift.”

My eyes widen in surprise. I've never heard Pa brag about me before.

“All right then. I'll clear it with the stewards.” Master rubs his chin and studies me as if he finds me lacking. Before leaving, he says to Pa, “Just remember, a lot is riding on this race.”

“Yes sir, Mister Giles.” Pa splashes the last of the water on Penny's legs. “Don't just stand there, Gabriel. Grab a rag and start rubbing.”

Silent, we dry off Tenpenny, rewrap his legs, and saddle him. There's so much I want to ask Pa about riding in a race, but my tongue's in a knot. Then I hear the toot of the bugle, and there's no time left for questions.

“I raised the stirrups high, Gabriel,” Pa tells me. “Hunch low on Penny's neck. Last heat is the roughest, and I don't want you a target for whips and sticks.”

Pa leads Tenpenny to the track. I walk beside him, gaze lowered. I don't
need
to look to know that folks are riled up about the jockey change. Men are already calling out new odds, “Ten dollars to one that Blue Belle will win!” Someone pelts me with a dirt clod. Another calls me an ugly name. A chant rises from the grandstand: “We want Jackson, we want Jackson . . .”

“Don't listen to them, Gabriel,” Pa says. “This race ain't about the crowd. This race is only about you and
your horse
.” Halting Tenpenny, Pa looks me square in the eyes like I'm a man. “Horses always be honest. If you be honest back, they'll give you their hearts.”

Gripping my shoulder, he draws me close in a hug. “I love you, son,” he whispers. Then he abruptly straightens, cups my bent knee, and boosts me onto Tenpenny.

My fingers tremble as I gather the reins. Noise from the crowd swirls around my head. I'm drowning in colors and confusion.
I can't do this!
I want to tell Pa.

In front of me, Levi's having problems with Lilith again. He's fighting with the horse, which then bolts onto the track, almost running several folks over. Suddenly, a man carrying a hunting whip ducks under the rail. He cracks Levi across the shoulder and hollers, “Ride that beast and win, you worthless darky!”

I cringe like
I
was struck.

A steward runs the man back into the grandstand. Before I ride through the gap, I kick off Jackson's boots, which plop to the ground. Boos and hisses greet me as Tenpenny jogs onto the track, but I pretend I don't hear.

My bare toes find the stirrups. Pa's right: With them set high, I'm balanced over the saddle pommel. The colt's ears are pricked; his gait's bouncy. I feel the rhythm of his stride, the spring of his legs, the strength of his muscles.

When I press my palm against Tenpenny's warm neck, the hoots of anger seem to disappear, and excitement fills me.
This is what I was born to do.

Steering Tenpenny against the inside rail, I steal a glance right. There are four other horses lined up for this last heat: Blue Belle, Famous Tom, Jersey Gent, and Lilith. Famous Tom's jockey catches my eye. He makes a whacking motion with his hand.

I snap my head around and face front. “You and me best steer clear of that boy,” I whisper to Tenpenny.

The steward dashes in front of us, checking to see if the horses are even. I lean low and twine my fingers in Tenpenny's mane, pretending I'm at Woodville Farm, bareback on Aristo. When the Jockey Club president taps on his drum, I dig my heels into the colt's sides and shout a soldier's “hoorah.” The colt shoots from the line, but I'm clinging burr tight.

We gallop to the front. I tug on the right rein, and Tenpenny swerves to the middle of the track. As we fly down the backstretch, the Yankee soldiers pump their arms and wave their caps. They're a blur when we pass by and head for the dip.

Tenpenny's still in front. I know Pa is yelling, “Don't burn him out!” but I'm pushing to keep ahead of Famous Tom's jockey.

The sound of pounding hooves fills my ears, and Famous Tom pulls aside. I tilt my head. The jockey's brandishing a stick. I tense, expecting the blow to hit me full on, but Tenpenny swings left, and the stick whacks against my shoulder.

As we round the homestretch bend, Famous Tom disappears in our dust. Blue Belle and Lilith are on the inside rail. Jersey Gent is behind on my right, battling it out with Famous Tom. From the corner of my eye I can see both jockeys, whips flailing. They're using them on their horses and on each other.

I slow Tenpenny down the homestretch, hoping to catch sight of Pa. But there's such a roar of noise and a waving of arms, I don't hear or see him, and we fly by in a panic. There's another mile left, and I don't know how I'm going to make it to the finish, let alone
win
this race!

Then I think back to Jackson's advice. Closing my eyes, I
listen
to Tenpenny.

I hear the steady
whoosh whoosh
of his breathing and the rhythmic drumbeat of his stride. When I squint my eyes open, I see that his ears are pricked and his neck tucked as we canter around the bend for the last mile.

Tenpenny is telling me,
I can run forever, Gabriel
.

Now all
I
got to do is hold on.

The first mile has taken its toll, and I grit my teeth against the pain in my arms, fingers, and legs. My shoulder aches where the stick struck me. Dirt fills my eyes and mouth as Tenpenny gallops down the backstretch. The stirrup irons cut into the bottoms of my bare feet. The muscles in my back cramp, and I tangle one hand in Tenpenny's mane, trying to stay balanced.

Don't give up
, I tell myself as we head again into the dip.
You're almost home.

Then I hear it: the thunder of flying hooves. Blue Belle is sneaking up beside me, and her jockey's grinning 'cause he knows I'm wore out.

Only Tenpenny ain't. He eyes that filly with hate. Pinning his ears, he stretches his neck, yanking the reins through my sore fingers. Side by side, the two horses fly around the last bend toward the finish line. Blue Belle's jockey is pushing his filly with voice and spurs. I'm so tuckered, I can barely hang on. Tenpenny's nostrils are wide and pink, and froth flies from his mouth.

“Go, Penny,” I whisper through wind-dried lips.

The colt flicks his ears and, with a surge of power, pulls away from Blue Belle. At that moment I know that he's given me his heart, just like Pa said.

We cross the finish line ahead by a nose.

The crowd explodes. Tenpenny slows to a ragged trot, and I feel myself slipping from the saddle. Pa catches me before I fall.

“You did it, Gabriel,” he says proudly.

“No, Pa.
Penny
did it,” I croak. “I just held on.” My arms are trembling from the strain. My feet and fingers are bloody. Pa sets me on the ground, and I swoon like a lady.

Catching me from behind, Jackson swings me in a hug. “You did it, boy!” he cackles gleefully. “Won me good money, too.”

When he sets me down, I stare at his arm.

“That blacksmith's a wonder. My arm's almost healed!” Laughing, he holds up his wrapped elbow. I glance at him and Pa. They're both grinning, and I know Jackson's arm was never broken. But then the stewards sweep Jackson, Tenpenny, and me toward the judges' stand. The crowd cheers as Tenpenny walks past the grandstand. I hobble behind, each step misery. Master Giles joins us by the judges' stand, but I lose sight of Pa.

Jackson boosts me back onto Tenpenny. I flinch when my legs hit the saddle, but I ain't so whipped that I can't thrust out my chest when the Jockey Club president hands Master Giles the trophy.

Beside him, a man's writing down notes. “Mister Giles, I'm a reporter for the
Lexington Gazette
. Can you tell me about your horse? Who's his sire?”

I grin down, waiting for him to ask me, the winning jockey,
my
name. Oh, that Annabelle will be so envious when she reads it in the paper! Only the man doesn't even glance my way.

Then Jackson leads Tenpenny and me off the track. This time, folks are cheering for me. Some run alongside, holding up money they won. Grinning, I give them a victory wave, but then I feel a rock bounce off my back. “Cheater!” an angry man yells. “I saw you whip Blue Belle!”

“Because of you my pockets are empty!” I hear another holler.

My smile disappears. A handful of men surround Tenpenny and me, their faces fierce. My blood turns icy.

Jackson scowls and tells them to get out of the way. I want to shout that I didn't cheat. But they don't care. They lost their wages and want to take it out on somebody—and that somebody is me!