Rosie

         Squinting through the glare of the noon sun, Meg found her way down to the rail, where Manny waited. She shouldered her way past the whispering, rustling crowd, and shielded her eyes with one hand while she stuffed her ticket stub into her back pocket. The curved metal of a hoof-pick bounced lightly against her hip with each stride. She spied Manny and slipped through the small gate between the grandstand and the rail, flashing her pass at the frowning track guard. She leaned against the warm metal of the fence, one foot braced in the chain link.

         “I put ten on Rosie, too bad she’s odds-on favorite.”

         “Yeah, but worth every cent.”

          Manny showed a quiet pride in the two-year-old filly. She was his favorite, hands down. Even the other horses in his rounds knew it. Rosie was Meg’s darling too. Meg had taken to her from the minute she’d started with the Donovan stables. It had been her first job, a hot-walker for the stable, and the first thing she’d seen was this beautiful face looking out from the nearest stall door. Rosie was a quiet filly: she wasn’t nervous, didn’t need a goat to keep her company (boy, had Meg been surprised when she first heard about the goats!), and didn’t dig holes in the dirt floors. She was popular with the exercise boys, and spoiled by the grooms.

         “There’s my baby!”

         Meg leaned farther over the rail, shoving her hair out of her eyes impatiently. Rosie never fussed at the start, and Meg smiled as the filly sauntered gracefully into the gate. Other horses stood placidly, waiting for the last few to be loaded. Bright swatches of green, gold, red, and orange jumped out through the dull grey of the gate, jockey silks, naming the owners of each horse.

         One of the laggards shied away, nervous at the metal smell. He balked at every attempt to get him past the open gate door.

         “Hey, Manny, he looks like he’s never started a gate before...do you think the crowd’s making him nervous?”

         Manny nodded his head absently, eyes still on Rosie.

         “That little colt’s probably only started once or twice before. If he don’t get in soon, he ain’t gonna make the start, he’ll just fold in a sweat.”

         Even as Manny spoke, the colt tried to rear, kept on all fours only by the pony boy beside him. Then without warning, the fractious colt was in, the gate locked, and the horses started with the thunder of the front gates slamming open. The sound of the horses’ hooves as they stormed through the start was like the rolling rumble of an earthquake. Meg loved that sound...it gave her chills every time. Her adrenaline raced as the horses flooded the field and slowly fanned out. She watched eagerly for Rosie, and the green and blue silks of the jockey. There! In the middle of the pack, moving for the front...fifth by a nose, and gaining!

         “It’s Green Sweeper in front by 2, Slow Topp and Shy Baby neck and neck on the rail at second. Rosie’s Ransom in fourth by half...”

         Meg didn’t hear the rest; she was too busy yelling for Rosie to open up those legs of hers. The field approached the top turn, and suddenly Meg realized they’d hit the “egg”, that wicked turn at the top of Timonium that made the track look like an egg instead of an oval. This track was well known for how many legs had snapped during lead changes. Her cheers faltered as she watched the field swell around Rosie.

         “NO!”

         Manny’s shout was a hoarse scream, and Meg joined him as she saw the spill. She could count three, no four horses down. The remaining horses pummeled the small bodies of the jockeys. Two of the four downed horses launched themselves to their feet and careened down the track. Tears Streamed down Meg’s face as she realized Rosie was still down. She watched in shock as the ambulances pulled onto the track.

         Three of the unhorsed jockeys were up and hobbling around, but one was not moving at all. From the colors, she could see that it was Paul Sheffield, the jockey who’d been on Rosie. The crowd was hushed, even though the race had finished at the far end of the track. The other horse had struggled to his feet, favoring one leg, but Rosie didn’t move to get up. She just lay there, tossing her head and whinnying with pain. Meg could see her thrashing, and knew the filly was injuring herself further.

         Manny threw himself over the fence and pelted down the track. Meg followed him, running to keep up. When they reached Rosie, Meg drew a deep breath to settle her stomach. Rosie’s left foreleg lay at a disturbing angle from the rest of the leg. Blood soaked the track underneath her, and her pain-filled cries hurt Meg’s ears. Manny fell to his knees beside the filly, trying to calm her as she flailed around. Meg caught Rosie’s head, and moved it to her lap, stroking the horse’s soft nose and patting her neck. She could hear Manny pleading with the vet to save Rosie’s leg, and she realized that this was the end of Rosie’s racing, possibly her life.

         She turned her head to avoid watching as the vet attempted to reset Rosie’s leg to put the boot on her, and caught sight of the paramedics loading Paul into the ambulance. Through the tubes that covered his face, Meg could see the paleness of his skin, and she shivered. A jockey’s face is normally very brown, dark from the sun, with pale raccoon circles left from the goggles. The rest of his body was bloody and battered, even through the gauze bandages.

         "Excuse me miss.”

         Meg jumped as the voice spoke next to her ear. It was the vet’s assistant, motioning her to move away from Rosie so she could be loaded onto the ambulance. She gently moved out from underneath Rosie’s head, grimacing a little at the stiffness in her knees, even from so short a period of kneeling. As delicate as Rosie was, she was still a horse. She backed up and stood beside Manny while the filly was loaded, smearing her tears across her cheeks with a dirt-covered hand.

         Looking at the groom standing so quietly beside her, she was shocked to see how old he looked at that moment. Deep lines of grief had worked their way into his face, as though he knew in advance what the outcome would be. Actually, he probably did. After all, he’d been working on tracks all his life. Horses were his blood, etched into the callused hands that could curry and groom, or carry two full bales of hay without a second thought. Love of the track was drawn deep in the lines around his eyes, from squinting in the sun to watch his horses run. It was worn into his clothes, even into the smell of him. A deep, earthy smell, almost like he was a horse himself. At this moment, though, the horse was hidden inside that frail face, as though the man had lost his soul.

         Meg suddenly felt as though her grief was inadequate. Who was she to grieve over a filly she’d barely known for the summer? Manny had been there when Rosie’s Ransom had stepped off the van from Donovan Farms, a prancing, precocious filly, burnished as red as the evening sunset. High-stepping, flighty, and vivacious.... those were his words, Manny’s words, from a man as down to earth as a farmer’s plow. He’d been so taken with her that until Meg had arrived on the track, he’d walked her himself, certain that no one else could handle her. Then Meg had arrived, and somehow Manny had taken a liking to her, too. He’d let her walk his precious filly, and since then they had formed a small bond, the three of them.

         Meg choked back her tears, and reached out to touch Manny’s arm. He flinched, and then relaxed, as though he hadn’t expected anyone to be there beside him.

         “Let’s follow with the truck, we can be there at the hospital.”

         “They can’t fix it. I know I begged that doc to fix her leg, but they can’t.”

         “We don’t know that! They’ve got the best vets there, Mr. Donovan will make sure they give her everything they’ve got.... come on, Manny, let’s go!”

         Meg could feel the panic starting to rise inside her. Her stomach was trembling from the adrenaline rush, and her voice was starting to shake. The thought that Rosie wouldn’t make it tore at her heart. She wanted to sit on the ground and bawl like a baby. It just wasn’t fair, and she wanted to throw a tantrum until she got her way…Rosie’s way...Rosie’s life. She’d made up all those neat headlines in her mind, “Rosie Rakes in Roses” as Rosie won the Derby...and now they’d never be more than whimsical dreams. She watched the lights of the ambulances fade from view, then turned and headed slowly down the track. She walked through the gate, and wove her way through thinning crowds towards the barns.

         Later that night, she stood in the safety of her own barn, back on the Laurel race track. She stood for a few minutes besides Rosie’s stall, wishing she could start the day over again. She knew there was nothing different she could have done to prevent the accident, but still...fresh tears spilled from her eyes, and she stumbled along the shed row, headed for the tack room where she’d left her jacket. Inside, Miss Miss, the kitten who’d survived getting stepped on, was curled up on one of the saddles. Even through the tears, Meg was forced to grin, thinking of the work Beau would have putting the shine back in with the soap. The smells of the tack room brought back more memories, like the first day she’d shown up for work, temporary pass pinned proudly to her shirt.

         She’d stood in the barn entrance, bewildered and a little scared. Then from the stall nearest her, a pretty, intelligent head had poked out, nodding, as though to say “It’s all right, I like it here, so will you”. That had been Rosie, curious at the new smell (Meg had worn perfume for some reason), and checking things out. Then she saw the other hotwalkers, coming along the shed row, cooling down the horses that had been working on the track, and exercising the ones who hadn’t. Every few rounds they’d let the horses drink, shouting “Hold back!” at the tops of their voices before pulling in the leads and letting the horses stop for a drink. She been confused by what they were saying at first, then as she caught on, it became second nature.

         When she was at the campus in the afternoons, she’d caught herself on the verge of calling out “Coming through!” every time she rounded a corner. This was what the hotwalkers used to holler when they cut through the middle of the barn instead of going around the full length of the shed row. She had been nervous about fitting in, knowing she was the equivalent of the kid from the good side of the tracks stepping in where she didn’t belong. But track people are track people, and like the foreign legion, they didn’t care where you came from, so long as you did your job. They looked out for each other.

         Meg turned with a sigh, once again leaving dirt smeared across her cheek. She remembered when Ollie had thrown some kid out the barn door for getting fresh with Meg. Ollie was a good guy, even-tempered most of the time, an ex-jockey who really knew how to train the horses. He was tiny, the top of his head barely reached her chin, but had the strength of a bull in his shoulders. Meg remembered the awe she’d held him in at first, impressed by the strength in his arms, power that came from years of wrestling with half a ton of hardheaded Thoroughbred every day. She had reveled in the growing strength of her own arms and shoulders.

         At first she’d been unable to lift a single 5-gallon bucket of water without straining, but had gradually worked her way up. She had grinned like a lunatic the first day she’d been able to heft a bale of straw into the stall without aching afterward, and then the day had come when she’d been able to carry a bale of straw and one of alfalfa, the standard makings of a fresh stall. Oh she loved that smell! The fragrance of it, the sweet, heady scent of the alfalfa bales would linger on her clothes when she took them off. Looking down at the dozing kitten, she thought about the fleeting safety of track life.

         “Miss Miss, I should take you home. The track’s too dangerous for us.” The calico kitten blinked sleepily up at Meg, her purr rumbling to life as Meg stroked her back. The stump of her tail jogged back and forth in imitation of the swishing that would normally take place reminding Meg that Miss Miss had managed to survive this long on the track without her help. Cradling the cat in her arms, she buried her face in the soft fur, and then reluctantly put her down. Grabbing her jacket, she slung it over her shoulder and walked to her car with a last check in on the other horses. Manny had done his rounds when they got back, but his heart hadn’t been in it. Normally he played with each horse, talking and joking with them like they were his buddies. His own horses received special treats of carrot slices that he’d have ready in his pockets. No carrots tonight. He’d even made a fresh stall for Rosie, even though she wasn’t coming home for a while, if at all.

         She got into her car and slammed the door, but even that little bit of self-expression didn’t help ease the pain. Maybe she just wasn’t cut out to be a track-worker anyway. Even Manny, for all the pain this afternoon had caused him, still accepted what had happened as something that was to be expected when you worked on the track. But she couldn’t think that way. For her, the pain was too raw to treat as ordinary.

         The anger she felt at the loss of all that Rosie stood for, the potential, the beauty, was too overwhelming. She still felt the terrible unfairness of it all. She wanted to blame someone, or something for what had happened, as though fixing the blame would make it all better. It was a childish emotion, and she knew it, but she couldn’t help feeling that way. The truth was, there was no one to blame, unless you wanted to blame the track builders, who put that wicked turn in originally. It was just a hellish turn, that’s all, and while it had claimed its share of legs and lives, there were far more horses that survived the turn intact.

         She parked on the hill above her apartment at Springhill Lake. She fished out her keys and headed down, cutting across the grass, which was damp with the evening chill. She’d moved in here just a month ago, feeling the need to have her own space before her parents drove her crazy. They were good people, but they were parents, and they’d never stopped expressing their concern that she was working on the track. To them, the track was where people worked if they couldn’t get a job someplace else. They just didn’t understand that the track was for people who loved horses. It was probably that middle class mindset, that GOOD people just didn’t do that. Tonight, though, she dreaded going into that empty apartment. Not even any roommates. She’d rented a studio, preferring the solitude to sharing with strange people. She’d been thinking about getting a cat, but hadn’t gotten that far yet.

         “I should have brought Miss Miss home with me.” Yep, talking to herself now, a sure sign she was out of it tonight. She stepped inside and locked the door behind her. She turned on all the lights, hoping to keep the darkness from bringing all the sadness down on her shoulders. Somehow the light seemed weak tonight, dim and unsupported. She walked down the hall to the bathroom, shedding clothes as she went. She’d pick them up tomorrow. Anyway, who’d see? She turned on the tap, filling the tub with the hottest water she could stand, and added some bubbles. Jasmine scented, her favorite.

         When the tub was full, she slipped in and stretched out full length, cringing at the heat of the water for a moment, then relaxing with a shudder of sheer pleasure. She closed her eyes, concentrating on keeping nothing in her mind. It was harder than she thought it would be. Every time she had her mind blanked out, she’d hear the thunder of that opening gate, and jerk upright. Geez. Even that had turned into something she hated. It seemed as though all her favorite things had been maimed on that track today. She dreaded going into work tomorrow, and seeing Rosie’s empty stall.

         The insistent clamor of the phone dragged her back out of her memories this time, and she padded naked down the hall to the living room, bubbles cascading off her slick skin. She finally got to the phone on the fifth ring, hoping whoever it was hadn’t hung up yet.

         “Hello?”

         “Meg, it’s Ollie. Paul didn’t make it.”

         “Oh my God. Why? What was wrong?”

         “Well, his face got stepped on, and he had some pretty bad internal injuries to his chest. The doc said he didn’t have a chance to begin with.”

         Meg squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that threatened. She hadn’t known Paul very well, but he was a regular on Donovan horses.

         “The funeral’s Tuesday at 1, you gonna make it, doll?”

         “Yes, I’ll be there. Ollie, how’s Rosie? Can they save her leg?” The silence on the other end of the line was deafening, and panic started to raise butterflies in Meg’s stomach.

         “They’re having trouble keeping her still.”

         Meg’s heart sank. If Rosie wouldn’t stay still, they’d never keep the cast on her leg, and the bones would never heal properly, if at all. And horses just couldn’t make it without four legs. They were just too heavy.

         “Have they tried the pool? She loves water, anyway.”

         “Meg, they’ve tried everything. Rosie’s Mr. Donovan’s baby, too. He was the one who helped her dam deliver. He’s tried everything. They’re gonna put her down tomorrow morning.”

         The words took a minute to sink in, then Meg’s world began spinning. It seemed so cold the way Ollie said it. They’re gonna put her down tomorrow morning. Like routine maintenance or something.

         “Meg, are you there, doll?” With a shock, Meg realized she’d left Ollie hanging for a good minute.

         “I’m here.” Her throat was so tight, she could barely squeak the words out. “I’ll be in to work tomorrow, Ollie. Is Manny going to need help with the others?”

         “He asked me to check and see if you would take care of them tomorrow. He doesn’t trust anyone but you with them anyway. He wants you to do the full routine.”

         Meg was surprised at that. Full routine meant everything from walking to currying, bathing, feeding, and wrapping legs against the chill. She hadn’t realized Manny trusted her that much. In spite of the pain, it gave her a warm feeling to realize she had become so much a part of the stable.

         “I’ll be there. Any need working?”

         “ No, they all worked yesterday, just walking will do.”

         Working meant a track workout, either with a jockey, or led by a pony. Since Manny’s had all worked yesterday, all she’d have to do was walk them. And she wouldn’t be walking them herself if she was doing full routine. She said goodnight to Ollie, and hung up the phone.

         Shivering, she walked over to her desk, and made a note on her calendar. Paul’s funeral, 1 PM, written in glaring red ink on Tuesday’s square. It seemed so lurid, put on paper. It almost seemed to pulse from the white page. But she wanted to be sure she didn’t bury it in the back of her mind and forget. This way she’d see it when she did Monday’s homework. And when she did the bills Sunday night. She shivered again, realizing she was still dripping wet, and headed back to the bath to rinse off. Somehow the bath just didn’t hold any appeal for her now.

         The next morning, she arrived at the track, grimly determined to get through the day without making any mistakes. She felt she owed it to Manny to make at least this one day go a little easier. She knew he would be there when they gave Rosie the euthanasia, so she’d have someone familiar with her. While Meg would have liked to see Rosie again, to stroke her velvet nose and look into her eyes, she knew she would never be able to watch Rosie die in front of her. It was hard enough this way. The memories of the accident would probably haunt her dreams forever. Even now, she could hear the horses’ pain-filled whinnies; feel the ominous hush of the crowd as she pelted down the track.

         She shuddered, and set about opening up the stalls for the other four horses Manny groomed. The day seemed to drag by at first, but once the hotwalkers arrived and she started in on the stalls, time moved faster. It seemed so mundane to be mucking stalls while in a few hours they would be killing Rosie. Bale after bale of straw and alfalfa passed in front of her eyes, most of them unseen. Bend over, fork a load of dirty straw into the barrow, shake down fresh straw, spread the alfalfa bale in the corner, two fresh buckets of water, move onto the next stall.

         She had all five done in about an hour and a half. As each horse was returned by the hotwalker, she curried and picked hooves and wrapped legs, until the repetition dulled her grief, at least temporarily. By noon, all the horses were walked, groomed, wrapped, and an hour later she mixed the feed for the midday meal. That was kind of fun, actually, the feed smelled pretty good. Sweet corn and oat bran, the vitamins that got mixed in, the extra oil for a healthy shine. It was a nice gooey mix, and the horses enjoyed it. Stopping by the tack room, she heard Beau cussing Miss Miss under his breath, and Meg smiled, her first of the day.

         “Kitty paw prints! Aren’t they cute!” Beau looked up, saw Meg’s grin, and smiled back.

         “Yeah, I guess so. But they’re a pain in the butt to soap out. Stupid kitten’s gonna hit one of the polished ones and slide right over the top.”

         “You’ll probably have claw marks in the leather, then.... better keep the polished ones up. Miss Miss isn’t into really high places yet.” As she talked, the culprit strolled in, winding her way between Beau’s legs, and then making a figure eight through Meg’s. She started her rumbling purr, and reached up to bury her tiny claws in Meg’s jeans.

         “She likes you, Meggie. She wants up!”

         Meg laughed at that, for Beau’s implied comment that Miss Miss was acting like a little child wanting to be picked up was very apt. Little mews and little paws reaching up.... it was a cute image. She bent over and picked up the kitten, who immediately snuggled into the hollow at her throat. Miss Miss’s soft fur tickled her chin, and Meg leaned her head gently against the tiny kitten. As soft as Rosie’s nose, she thought, and the first tears of the day welled up in her eyes.

         “Hey Meggie, it’s okay. Everybody cries the first time.”

         Meg looked up, startled at Beau’s perception.

         “How’d you know what I was thinking?”

         “All of us have been waiting for it. The first time’s awful hard. Track folks know that. But most of us see it a lot younger than you. I was six the first time I had to know about it. It don’t matter though, we all cry the first time. You been holding it in all day. Take that kitten home, have a good cry. It’ll be easier.”

         “Beau’s right, doll. Besides, that damn cat’s too saddle-happy.”

         Meg turned, and saw Ollie leaning against the tack room door. His face looked drawn, and she figured he was having a hard time, too. But she knew he’d been fending off questions about Paul’s handling of Rosie from the track commission. They had to investigate any incident that involved injury to a horse or jockey, and it was always hard on those being questioned. Just like Meg, they had a need to place the blame somewhere, but there was no blame in this case. Just a horse stumbling over a lead change on a hard turn. Pretty cut and dried. But it was still tiring. Meg gave him a small smile, and nodded agreement.

         “I’ll take this little devil out of your hair, Beau. Besides, she’d likely get stepped on again. I like her too much to see her turned into a kitty pancake.” She started out the door, and then stopped.

         “Who’s on the night shift?”

         “George. And Manny’s back. He’ll be helping out.”

         “How is he?”

         “Doing fine, doll. This isn’t his first, though it’s his hardest. He cared a lot about that filly, but he’s doing fine.”

         Meg gave a small sigh, glad to know Manny was okay. She knew she wouldn’t have been able to come right back to the stable after that. Maybe being on the track for so long made it easier. She slipped out the door, with Miss Miss still snuggled under her chin.

         The drive home was unusual, to say the least. Miss Miss, not used to cars, had first scrambled around frantically, confused at the new smells. Finally, she had decided the safest place was next to Meg, so she’d climbed up onto Meg’s shoulder, and curled around the back of her neck. Meg’s neck was stiff by the time she got home. She’d stopped in at the 7-Eleven to grab some cat food and kitty litter. She’d make do for a catbox from the soda case she had at home, until she could pick one up at the pet shop.

         When they got home, Miss Miss ran around exploring every nook and cranny, then settled on Meg’s bed, right on her spare pillow. Right next to Mommy. It was going to be an interesting night, since Meg was a restless sleeper. She tended to sleep all over the bed. Well, hopefully, Miss Miss would be aware enough to not get rolled on.

         A new friend in the apartment turned out to be an exciting experience. Being a kitten, and kittens being naturally curious, Miss Miss couldn’t stay still for long in a new place. While Meg was showering off the morning’s work, Miss Miss came wandering into the bathroom. Jumping gracefully onto the edge of the tub, she peered around the curtain.

         Meg had to laugh, because the kitten’s face was cocked so comically, her ears at a quizzical angle, and the green eyes looked so puzzled. Then Miss Miss walked cautiously around the edge, pressed tightly against the wall, her paws slipping, and Meg knew she would have a wet kitten shortly. Well, at least it would get her ready for the flea bath she was going to get later. The kitten slipped into the tub, and got pelted with water from the showerhead. With a yowl, she scrabbled at the edge of the tub to get out, but it was too slippery for purchase. When Meg bent down to lift out a very bedraggled Miss Miss, she got scratched for her trouble. But Miss Miss had tiny, soft claws, so it didn’t hurt too badly. Meg grabbed the towel and gave the kitten a quick dry, then turned off the shower and dried herself. She grinned at the woebegone expression on the little face.

         When she finally settled down at her desk that evening to pay her bills, she saw the bright red reminder of Paul’s funeral. Suddenly the tears she’d been holding back all day came rushing out at once, the rough sobs shaking her. She cried for Rosie, she cried for Paul, but most of all she cried for herself. It was a violent introduction to the real world, and she cried from the pain of that introduction. She felt a gentle lick at her arm, and looked up through blurry vision to see Miss Miss sitting beside her on the desk. The little kitten licked her arm again before settling down, pressing against Meg’s arm and purring fiercely. The gentle affection evident in the tiny cat’s rumbling body eased the harshness of Meg’s crying. Eventually she was too tired to cry, her nose was stuffy, and her eyes were hot. She grabbed the tissues with one hand, and scooped up Miss Miss with the other, heading for bed. With the kitten snuggled against her shoulder, and the warmth of the waterbed cocooning her, she finally drifted off to sleep.

         When the alarm went off the next morning, she was already awake. Miss Miss had been her alarm. There’s nothing quite like having a kitten biting your nose and breathing in your face to wake you up fast. She’d lain in bed for half an hour, playing with the curious cat until the alarm went off. Catch-the-hand-under-the-sheets was the most popular game. As she reluctantly climbed out of bed, Meg realized she’d had none of the bad dreams that haunted her Saturday night. She knew Rosie wouldn’t be there when she went in to work, she knew tomorrow she had to go to Paul’s funeral, but right now, the grief was somehow diminished by the bright cheerfulness of Miss Miss’s play. With a soft smile, Meg acknowledged the fact that life went on, sometimes even happily. She knew she’d always feel the pain and regret, but Beau had been right. All the track people went through this, and a good cry helped. Life always went on.