Callie

While there is only one true ending to a life, it bears mentioning that within that same life is a series of chapters. A portion of the story and the characters involved carry forward, but some remain locked in limbo or move off into parallel paths that will never again cross your own. In my case, it was a series of events that were encapsulated and nothing that led up to them could have been predicted, other than my own stubbornness, nor could their endings have changed because those life ingredients moved on and out of my life.

I'd always felt I had a wonderful childhood. I had two parents who doted on me, the opportunity to interact empathetically with some of the most beautiful, powerful creatures on earth, an Eden of landscape, and the knowledge that I wasn't someone else's whim, but the product of my own choices. I intended to raise Josiah that same way, and I knew one day the man would look down on me and recognize that bounty, exclusive of whatever wealth his father might contribute. I wanted him to be solidly grounded.

The time for me to be a girl had long ended; I was a woman, married at that, and had a dad ahead of me and a son behind me. Those alone made my life worth living.

When I looked at Michael's life and heard the many stories he began to tell, I felt all the luckier. Unlike me, he'd never been free until that special midnight. I believe his grandfather had foreseen that; that was why he'd held off the inheritance until Michael had the chance to learn a few of life's lessons and could be better prepared to handle such enormous wealth and the power that came with it.

It was the eve of the Derby. I looked at my silks lying on the office desk in the barn. I had to admit they were small enough to belong to a child, and the fact that the enormous and powerful Jewel would allow me to control him using only my feet and thin leather reins humbled me. He trusted me. Did I deserve that trust?

I slept in a fetal curl beneath Michael's arm that night. My dreams varied, but I never went into deep REM sleep. It was a sign that my mind was running through the next day's scenario over and over. Before the sun rose, Michael awakened me with a kiss and we loaded up, woman and horse, trainer and gear, and headed to the most storied track in the world. The morning fog lay over the track, and attendants were carrying in urns of flowers and polishing railings while horses for the day's ten races were allowed to warm up their muscles with graceful runs around the track. The early birds bound for the infield had begun to arrive, setting up their canopies and lawn chairs, shivering in the cool morning dampness. Their day of raucous sex, drinking, drugs and fights was just warming up - all without being even able to see a horse from their position inside the track.

I led Jewel onto the approach track for our turn. Michael lifted me up into the saddle, and I hooked my feet into the stirrups and sat forward lightly, my helmet packed with my waist-long blonde hair. The other jockeys went quietly about their business, intent on individual strategies and carefully inspecting hoofs and withers in advance of their race.

Dad had refused his chair for the day, unwilling to display even the tiniest sign of weakness. He did, however, use a wooden cane, its head carved into the likeness of a horse. In many ways, his life had led to this moment as well.

Many of the horses for the main race had already been on site for days, acclimating to the scents, noises and altitude of the greatest race they would ever run. Their names were engraved on brass plaques affixed to their stable doors, and I thought they were probably quite entertained by the flurry of reporters and stable boys who scurried around in preparation for the ring of their particular bell when at last they could strut their stuff.

I was running Jewel in the first race, of which I was rather glad because it gave me less time to get nervous. The stands were filling rapidly and the announcer's voice could be heard over the speaker system, welcoming dignitaries and mentioning elite sponsors who waved to the crowd like so many royal heads of states, clutching mint juleps even though the sun had yet to hit its zenith. It was spring in Kentucky, and surely the world envied anyone who was lucky enough to be there.

I felt it - I was approaching the end of one of my personal chapters.

And then it came: the call to the post for the first race. Michael set me aboard and walked Jewel onto the track toward the starting gate. My ride was nervous; his eyes wide and shifting wildly from side to side as he sized up his competition. He was a magnificent creature, and I could feel his muscles tighten beneath me as he anticipated his opportunity to prove that.

The bugle sounded, bringing everyone to attention, and Michael loaded us into position number three at the gate. In only a flash of a second it opened. We were off!

Jewel broke into the lead immediately, his massive hooves pounding the dirt like a commander leading his forces into battle. I was not much more than a feather upon his saddle, and I could feel the immense power of the muscles he brought to bear as he rounded the turn, well in the lead. I sat forward in the saddle, low and streamlined so as to become a part of the animal himself. I reined him in slightly so as to allow the other horses to sniff his flanks. That gave the others the acceptance of being dominated and helped Jewel conserve his strength. We rounded the turn, and he took over the territory with grace and ease, almost in an even glide. It felt like I was riding a magic carpet.

We approached the last turn, and one of the other horses, whose rider had held him back, broke from the pack now and was approaching our flank. I lightly kicked Jewel, alerting him to the pretender, but he already knew. His nostrils flaring, he bent his head low, and with a burst that could have been rocket engines, he sprang forward, lengthening his stride. The second horse had strength in reserve, however, and soon we were neck and neck.

I watched in slow motion as the other jockey reached over with his crop and stabbed Jewel with its pointed end. Jewel stiffened, faltered and tumbled to the track, rolling hoof over hoof as I was flung clear. The pack was demolished as they maneuvered to avoid hitting us, leaping over the heaving body of my injured giant. The race was over and Jewel lay on his side, attempting to kick with his broken foreleg. I screamed and ran to hug him as though I could somehow make it better. Michael came bounding across the track, lifting me clear and clutching me against his chest as he carried me from the track, screaming and crying with disappointment, anger and fear for my four-legged hero.

A quick exam by the track vet confirmed the worst. Jewel's life must end. He was loaded onto a trailer and removed from the track. The second race was fast approaching and this was Derby Day, but Jewel caused tears to be shed that day; tears for the loss of a magnificent specimen who could have been a contender... and for the brutal reminder that we were all spectators in life.

Once my initial shock had passed, I was examined by a doctor and found fit - at least on the outside. My heart, however, was broken. Dad's lips were locked in a thin line. He'd seen the transgression and had brought it to the attention of the track authorities. The damage, however, was already done. Jewel was gone.

"Michael, how could he do that and kill such a beautiful animal?" I cried, clinging to my husband.

Michael was angry, deeply, deeply angry. I knew he was thinking of what could have happened to me. "He won't get away with it, I promise you. This is a dirty business, Callie. I hoped you wouldn't have to face that, but it looks like they've targeted you."

"Why? Because I'm a woman?"

"Because you're a female jockey who was about to win a race that would make them look foolish. You're the winner, Callie, not your ride."

"Tough break," came a man's voice behind us. I looked over my shoulder, but Michael's reaction made mine look like a flinch.

"What are you doing here?" he asked the man who was his dad.

"That's a question I should be asking of you," Mr. Shannon shot back. "You don't have the experience to put an animal on that track, and especially not with a female jockey."

I was burning inside. I was fairly sure he knew we were married, and for all he might dislike what I represented, there was a code of conduct in our industry that frowned upon what he was doing.

Michael bent forward, his shoulders creating a shield around his dad and himself. His lips were thin and his teeth clenched as I heard him say, "It's the oddest thing, Dad. The jockey on the horse that took Callie out looked remarkably like Juan Benito, a man I've seen at your farm regularly. I don't suppose you know anything about this." His father didn't utter a word, but stared back with a mocking thin smile. "No, I didn't think so. We'll see, Dad, we'll see. I warned you before not to underestimate me. We'll see how you like being a film star."

"Don't push your luck, Michael," his dad sneered. "You won't do it because it will ruin you as well. Thought I wouldn't call your bluff, eh?" Mr. Shannon pulled a cigar out of his pocket, bit off the end and spat it onto Michael's shoe.

I knew Michael's body language too well; he was ready to spring. I calmly looped my arm around his and pulled in another direction. He felt my determination, and his protectiveness over me outweighed his anger at his father. He remained with me, although I could tell by the muscle jerking in his jaw that he wasn't done with the matter.

We didn't speak of it - it was safer that way. We sat in our box and Dad kept up a constant flow of small talk, hoping to diffuse the situation. As for me, I felt like I just wanted to go home, hug my baby, and put my jockey days behind me.

It was the fifth race and the field was much bigger than normal. These were the horses who hoped to run the Derby next year, so it was looked at as a race of elimination. They had to bring on an additional gate to accommodate the overflow. I sat forward, anxious to see that particular run as it affected how we'd train our horses for the following year. The bell sounded and the gates opened. Almost immediately there was absolute havoc as the overly full field became entangled with one another and several horses went down, their jockeys rolled upon by tons of horseflesh. The race couldn't even be completed because there was no room for the survivors to run and not become part of the melee.

A cry went out from the audience, not only at the fear of injury of the horses and riders, but at the loss of investment. This was a significant blow to the horse industry, just as an oil rig disaster would be to the oil industry or a forest fire would be to the lumber industry.

Michael saw something which made him stiffen, and then, with a touch on my arm, he left the box and disappeared. Dad and I were intent on watching the accident get sorted out. Three jockeys were taken off the track on gurneys, and the trailer for injured horses took off two. They were playing loud music over the speaker system in an attempt to calm people and restore normalcy. After all, there were another five races to be run that day.

The track was cleared and the call to the post for the next race had sounded when Michael reappeared.

"Callie, I need you."

"I need you, too, honey," I responded casually, still watching the action on the track.

"No, you don't understand. I need you to come with me, now!"

"Why?" I was alarmed. "What's wrong? Is it Josiah?"

"No, no, nothing like that. Come on and I'll fill you in on the way."

I looked at Dad, who nodded in encouragement, and got up to follow Michael. He took my arm and pulled me to a quiet corner.

"You won't believe what I'm going to say, but hear me out. One of the jockeys you just saw hauled away was riding Dad's entry in the Derby. At the very least, his leg is broken, so there's no one to ride. No one... but you."

"Me?"

He nodded. "I know it sounds crazy, but Dad is in a fix and needs a jockey who has qualified to ride here. He's desperate, and I told him I'd ask you. Now, this isn't a favor to my dad, Callie. This is a chance for you to prove what you've got. We don't have a horse in that race and he doesn't have a jockey. What better chance for you to show who you are and rise above it all? You can bet this is going to make for great press. You'll be the heroine. Will you do it, Callie? Will you?"

I gulped and my stomach instantly tightened. "Michael, is that what you want?"

He nodded. "I want it for you, Callie. I won't lie; I also want to prove to my dad once and for all that you were worth putting aside all the others."

"The others?"

He made a face. "Okay, look, I didn't think I'd ever have to get into this, but Dad has been lining up prospective wives for me for the past five years. You weren't on his list, if you know what I mean. It wasn't you personally, but you didn't have the connections."

"Can I ask something?"

"Yes?"

"Did you marry me to get back at your dad?"

"What?" He frowned and stiffened. "Of course not, Callie. I married you because it's you. I wanted you. I didn't care about the other women or who their father was. You've always been someone I've admired; your courage, your intelligence, your integrity. I wanted children with you, Callie. I want to raise sons who would inherit your guts to stand up tall in the world."

I nodded. "I believe you. Okay, Michael. I will do this for you because I think it's important to you."

"Now you know why I married you." He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me against him. It wasn't the embrace - it was the emotion behind it. I knew him and knew him well.

That's how it came to be that when they had the call to the post for the Derby race, I was up on Midnight Red in Shannon racing silks, hastily tacked shorter and cinched at the waist to fit better. That's how it came to be that the mocking, evil-tempered Mr. Shannon was standing in his box, humbled by Michael's magnanimous gesture of family integrity.

Midnight Red and I were being led into the starting gate when the familiar but long-absent sense of panic overcame me. I could no longer make out the noises around me, and the scents of horses and people mixed in the heat of the mid-afternoon, making me nauseated and frantic to find a way out.

The gates opened. Midnight Red had been well-trained and he burst forward behind three other horses. We weren't a favorite, but the honor of even being included in the race made the horse beneath me far more valuable in reputation and in worth. I leaned forward instinctively, clenching my thighs against his flanks to stay aboard. By the first turn I'd gauged his stride and rose with him rather than on him. He felt my cooperation, and this gave him the confidence he needed to take the horse ahead of us, leaving only two.

My panic was now full-blown, and I went mentally inward. I knew Dad was on his feet out there, as proud as he could be. I heard Mom's voice, urging me on to become my own woman and leave the past where it was. It was enough, and I finally let Mom go.

I patted Midnight Red's flank. He became one with me, and one by one, the other horses were left behind. We won.

There were photographers and press, there were well-wishers and people who claimed they'd always known I could do it. More importantly, there were Dad and Michael, each of them beaming with tears in their eyes. When I pulled off my helmet and my silvery hair cascaded to my waist, there was a roar of approval. People love underdogs.

Mr. Shannon came to the winner's circle to accept the trophy. Michael stood beside him, and it may have been the proudest moment of my life. Mr. Shannon patted Michael on the shoulder as shutters snapped. The race was run, but it wasn't the whole story... not yet.

Mr. Shannon's hand holding the trophy suddenly went to his chest as his knees gave way and he crumpled onto the dirt track. There were screams, and Michael fell to the ground next to him, pumping his chest and giving him mouth to mouth. As I watched in horror, an ambulance and gurney appeared and Mr. Shannon was whisked away. Just like Jewel was all I could think.

An hour later, Michael and I, along with his mom and a nurse, stood next to Mr. Shannon's bed. He'd suffered a heart attack, and the doctors weren't encouraging. His breathing was shallow, but he was conscious enough to refuse intubation and the machines that would prolong his suffering. Michael's face was white as he held his dad's hand. "Dad," he whispered. "I love you. Hang on, Dad. We can fix this, together."

Mr. Shannon shook his head very slightly, but it was enough to make Michael's eyes fill with tears. "Don't argue with me now, old man. You've still got a few good fights left in you."

Mr. Shannon looked from his wife's to his son's face, locking eyes and communicating something only they could understand. I felt so terribly helpless, but there was one thing I could do to help. There was one last gift I had to give.

I took Michael's upper arm and led him to stand next to me, bending low over Mr. Shannon's face as he fought for his final breaths.

"Mr. Shannon, you're the finest breeder I've ever known, and it was a pleasure to win for you. I want you to know that Michael will carry on with you as an example, as will our son." Michael's head swiveled to look at me, a question in his eyes. "Mr. Shannon, you have a grandson, and his name is Josiah. I've kept his father's identity secret because I was afraid of the power you have, but you deserve to know that your blood lives on in his small body. I only wish you'd had a chance to hold him."

Mr. Shannon's eyes opened as he stared at me, and I knew he understood because he nodded once and then closed his eyes. The torch had been passed.

***

He was buried in the family plot not far from where Michael and I had first made love. I felt at peace that he'd had a chance to know.

"That was a very generous thing you did, Callie, telling Dad that in his last moments." Michael was sitting beside me next to the pool in our back yard. "I only wish it were true."

I turned to face him. "Why, Michael, it is true. You didn't believe me?"

"You're serious?"

"Oh, my God, Michael. Of course I am. I was already pregnant when Clayton kidnapped me. There was never anything between us - I woke up fully dressed and my hair wasn't hardly mussed. If he'd done anything to me, there would have been some sign . I was already pregnant, and that was one of the reasons I didn't say anything afterwards. I wanted to give Josiah some dignity, even if it was only Clayton he could claim as his father. You were nowhere to be seen, remember."

"Oh, Callie, do you know what this means to me?"

"I think so. You should know I've never been with anyone but you, Michael. You were my first and my last. Can't you even tell by looking at him? He has your eyes, your hair."

"I thought that was just wishful thinking," Michael answered, a glow on his face. "He's really mine?"

I nodded. "There's more, though. You're to be a father again. It seems a week in Ireland makes one fertile." I'd saved the news, knowing it needed to be told when the time was right.

"And all this time..." he repeated over and over in wonder. "My God, when I think how you could have been hurt in that race... Does your dad know?"

I shook my head. "Why don't you tell him?"

Michael gave me a hard hug and a resounding kiss and then headed off to tell Dad and to hold his son.

Dad came downstairs later and found me by the pool. "I hear congratulations are in order," he said and hugged me, clearing his throat because displays of affection were difficult for him. "Got to give you credit, Callie girl. You always do what you set your mind to do."

"Dad, who do you think I got that from?"

"Well, I don't know 'bout that. There was some stubbornness on your mom's side, too, you know."

I thought back to her willful ride that ended her life and nodded. "Yes, I suppose you're right, Dad."

"You know, it's mighty nice that you and Michael have finally ended up as it should have been in the beginning. And it's mighty nice that you've let me stay on with you here so I could see it happen."

"I've always told you, Dad. I'll never leave you."

He nodded and patted the back of my hand before taking the rocking chair.

***

Our daughter was born just before Christmas, on a snowy night when the temperature dipped a dozen degrees lower than the norm. We named her Jewel, in honor, well, of so many things. Not just the horse, but the green land where she'd been conceived, the triple crown we hoped one day to win, and the color she would later bring to our lives - a true tomboy, like someone else I know intimately well.

***

The gym doors were opened wide to let in as much air as possible. The decorations looked like they were for a prom, but no one cared. They had come to see one another. I was dressed in pale pink; my color since the days of dogwood blooms and the silks I'd sewn in the event that someday I'd get to ride for real - as I had.

I had to get onto my tiptoes to see over the many heads. Was he there?

Just as if we were still in high school, friends had gathered into small groups, recalling old times and exchanging gossip about whatever happened to so-and-so and who was that with the cute brunette? "I don't remember him being that tall," I heard a girl nearby say. That probably went for almost every guy in the gym... except one. He was always the tall one.

Two groups drifted apart like clouds bound for different parts of the sky. Yes! There he was! Oh, god, but he was even better looking than I remembered, if that was possible. He was wearing navy slacks and an open-necked pale pink shirt with a sweater knotted about his neck. Pale pink... could he have remembered?

I looked for a ring on his left hand, but it was barren. Not all men like to wear rings, I told myself, even though I was clutching his in my pocket. It was gold, and our initials were carved inside.

Should I go inside? A couple of girls I'd known in English Lit were coming toward me, smiles wide. They'd also been part of our group on the night of the bonfire, although I hadn't seen them since.

"Callie!" the taller of the two called to me loudly. I couldn't remember her first name, so I just waved. Michael heard, though, and he was looking in my direction.

Almost as if it were a movie, the groups drifted again and he walked between them toward me, like Moses parting the Red Sea. I held my breath.

"Hello, lassie," he said, and I realized his voiced had deepened.

"Hello, Michael."

"Are you alone?"

I nodded. "Let's stay outside to talk," he suggested, and I was only too happy to agree. He held out his hand and I took it, looking up at him with a shy smile. He actually had grown a little taller, too, and of course this made me feel all the smaller.

There was a bench near where buses dropped off students, and luckily, there was no one nearby. We sat down and he said, "I thought you'd never get here," as he pulled his wedding ring out of his pocket and slid it on his left hand.

"Can I put mine on now, too?" I laughed. We'd decided to stage it as though we weren't together. It would serve the gossip mongers right.

He was clearing his throat often, which I remembered was a sign of his being nervous. "Are you okay?"

"Now that you're here, I'm fine. You know, I always thought you were the prettiest girl in school, and tonight proves it. Thank you for trusting me and waiting, Callie."

"It was my pleasure." I grinned and kissed him on the cheek.

"Well, it won't compare to what you're going to feel when I get you home."

"Then what are we waiting for?" I pulled at his arm and headed for our cars. "Bet I can beat you."

He laughed, his head thrown back. "Lassie, I believe you're the only woman in the world who could lay claim to that and be right. Race you!"

 

~The End~